Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2647325.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Psychological_Torture, Kidnapping, Manipulation,
      Drug_Use, Swearing
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-20 Completed: 2014-11-22 Chapters: 16/16 Words: 95918
****** His Boys ******
by pissedoffeskimo
Summary
     Mitch knew better then to talk to strangers, let alone accept drinks
     from them, but this wasn't a stranger, it was Richard Carter - the
     famous, gorgeous, action movie star - and he was smiling down at him
     with those beautiful blue eyes and a cocky grin and, really, one
     drink couldn't hurt anything, right?
Notes
     I wrote this in 2006. I'll be posting it as I edit. The biggest
     change to the original will be that I'm moving location from England
     to America for consistency issues, among other things. Otherwise, I'm
     trying to stick to minor edits. It's hard, so bear with me.
     Please take all warnings seriously. Please. This is a disturbing
     story. It's graphic and violent and wrong in so, so many ways and it
     doesn't end well, because these things rarely do.
     All of that aside, this was a labor of love that I truly enjoyed
     writing and if you decide to continue reading, I hope you love it as
     much as I do.
      
           [http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/eskimosatan/850135/47959/
                              47959_original.jpg]
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Oh, god, I am so sorry!” Mitch blushed and tried to wipe what was left of his
drink off the person he’d just run into. He was so stupid! The floor tilted
under his feet. Strike that, he was so drunk. “I can not believe I just did
that.”
The man in front of him looked up from his white shirt, now splattered
liberally in strawberry daiquiri and raised a dark eyebrow. “You don’t look so
good.”
Mitch lifted his pale, hazel eyes to meet the gaze and for a moment he saw
double, “I don’t feel so goooo... oh, fuck.” His vision sharpened onto the tan
face in front of him and his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “You’re Richard
Carter!”
Richard smiled slyly and put a hand on Mitch’s shoulder and Mitch nearly
toppled over as his knees went weak. Richard Carter, the action movie star, was
in a gay bar and he was smiling at Mitch. Could anyone really get that lucky?
Richard leaned down, practically putting his forehead against Mitch’s. “Shh,
I’m laying low.”
Mitch nodded dumbly. Up close, Richard was so... tall, and handsome. He’d
always played the rouge sort of hero on the screen, all scruffy with dirt
marring his chiseled features. In person he was... well, he was gorgeous. At
over six feet tall, he towered over Mitch’s five foot five. His black hair was
slicked back and his shirt fell open to just bellow his chest, revealing a
sinful amount smooth skin. Not to mention those tight, leather pants. It should
be illegal to wear something like that in public.
Checking himself for drool, Mitch smiled up at the actor, hoping that he wasn’t
making too large a fool of himself. “I really am sorry.”
Richard chuckled with a deep reverberating tone. “Not to worry, I’ve got five
more just like this one. You, however, are very drunk.”
Mitch couldn’t help that his smile went from winning to sloppy. He was indeed
very drunk and as he’d never been so before, he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“I am.”
“Tell you what,” Richard’s eyes raked over him andMitch was suddenly very self-
conscious of the outfit he’d chosen to wear that evening; black bondage pants
that clung to his hips and hung loosely around his legs, pooling slightly at
his feet, combat boots, and a purple fishnet top that showed off his
underdeveloped, hairless chest and pink nipples. He must look like such a
child. “Why don’t you put down that empty glass and we go dance for a while,
then you let me buy you another drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, the taller man took the glass from Mitch's hand,
setting it on an empty table before he took Mitch by the hand and led him onto
the dance floor. Mitch had never gone onto the floor to dance before. So far,
every time he’d snuck out and gone to the club, he’d just spent a few hours
stared at the other boys dancing, nursing his hard on in a dark corner and
hoping that he looked as inconspicuous as he thought he was. Richard, however,
did not have any insecurities about dancing. He grabbed the straps on Mitch’s
pants and yanked the sandy haired kid against him, hard, before grinding,
staring down at his dance partner with intensity like Mitch had never seen
before.
The muscles of Richard’s thigh pressed against Mitch’s erection and he nearly
came in his pants. Richard Carter, a famous actor, was gyrated against him, his
erection tenting his pants and digging into Mitch’s abdomen. It was like some
kind of crazy dream. A really nice dream that was threatening to turn wet if he
didn’t move away soon. Pulling back a little, Mitch tried to keep up to the
music with his hips, imitating Richard as best he could. The only other times
he’d danced before had been with his friends and it had never been anything
like this. Dancing with his friends was for fun, for laughs, this was to get
off.
He felt the familiar stir in his balls and tried to back up, but Richard let go
of the straps and grabbed onto Mitch’s hips instead, holding the two of them
tightly together. Something pressed against Mitch from behind and it took him a
moment to realize it was another man. Richard smiled at whoever it was and
winked at him before looking back down at Mitch, never missing a beat. The man
behind him pressed closer and Mitch could feel the outline of a cock rubbing
against his backside.
And he came. No pretense, no chance to moan, or even think about it. He just
came in his pants on a dance floor with Richard Carter pressed against his
front and some anonymous man behind him. For a moment it was all he could do to
stand and if Richard’s hands hadn’t still been holding onto him, he might have
actually fallen.
Looking up with guilty eyes, he saw Richard smiling down at him in apparent
amusement. “Well, I guess we’ll just move onto the drink then, shall we?”
Mitch was in the process of nodding when a hand shot forward from behind him
and grabbed Richard’s lapel, stopping him as he turned to lead the way back to
a group of tables off the side of the dance floor. Looking back, Mitch nearly
fell over himself. The man behind him was a tall, lanky fellow with blond hair
and eyes as bright a green as Richard’s were blue. He recognized him from the
tabloids, even if he didn’t know his name. Wasn’t it Peter something?
Richard sneered comically. “What, Paul, it’s just drinks?”
Paul looked down at Mitch. Unlike Richard, he didn’t look like he was joking.
Instead, he was studying Mitch’s face. Finally, he looked back at Richard, his
fist still gripping the actor’s shirt. “He’s too young.”
Richard stuck out his tongue and grabbed Mitch, turning him so that the smaller
boy’s back was pressed against his chest. Mitch felt hot breath on his ear and
his cock, which was still nestled in the wet patch of cum in his boxers,
started to stir again. “He’s not too young, he is drinking after all. How old
are you?”
Mitch looked up and back with wide eyes. How old was he supposed to be again?
Oh, right. “Twenty-one.”
Paul scoffed, “Oh, fuck that, Richard, there is no way he’s twenty-one.”
“Am too!” Mitch pulled away from Richard long enough to get his wallet out and
flash his ID at the men. Well, it wasn’t his ID, actually, it was his
brother’s, but they looked something alike, even with six years between them.
Richard growled in his ear and Mitch’s heart skipped a beat. “See, I told you.
Not too young by far. Come on.”
A hand sought his out and he allowed himself to be led, Paul following behind
them, to a table pushed in the corner where three other men were waiting.
Richard sat in the corner, and pulled Mitch onto the chair next to him. “So,
Cutie, what’s your name?”
“Mitchell Dearing. But everyone calls me Mitch.”
Paul mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “that’s not what it
said on the ID,” but otherwise kept his opinion to himself. Richard didn’t seem
to notice. “Well, Mitchell-dear, what do you want to drink?”
One of the men sitting at the table, a shorter man with Hispanic features and a
drunken lilt leaned over. “Aw, Richie, he ain’ ol’ ‘nough to drink. He’s a
baby.”
“I am not!” Okay, maybe he was too young to drink, but that didn’t make him a
baby. “I want... Vodka.” It sounded like something his brother would have
ordered, something manly.
Richard chuckled into his ear, “Big man drink. Stay right here.”
Mitch grinned as Richard slipped out of the seat and winked at him before
heading off to the bar. Then he realized that he’d been left at a table with
four men he didn’t know, one of whom was glaring at him like he was something
that had been scraped off the bottom of their collective shoes.
There were two Spanish boys, one slightly taller than the other and a little
broader, but other than that they looked like they could have been twins, with
dirty-blonde hair and chocolate eyes. The third boy had russet colored hair,
streaked with white blond. With his pale skin and whip cord body it looked
sexy, especially with the way he was sitting, one foot on the floor, the other
on the table, his leg bent nearly double and pressed against his chest. How
could anyone be that flexible?
The broader of the two Hispanic boys leaned forward, putting his arms on the
table and his chin on his arms. “H’llo, Mitch, I’m Mickey.”
His brother, because Mitch figured that’s what they were, elbowed him in the
side and nearly sent him tumbling off his chair. “You are Miguel.” Then he
looked over at Mitch and winked, “And I’m Louis.”
“Oh.” Mitch shifted uncomfortable. “How do you know Richard?”
Mickey chuckled and picked up his drink, making a motion like he was toasting
before downing half the contents. It was Louis who answered his question,
however, with a poorly hidden grin on his face. “We were extra’s on the set of
one of his movies and he invited us home for a party.”
Mickey chuckled into his glass, “Richie throws the best parties.”
The redhead hadn’t said anything; he’d just sat there, looking disinterested in
the whole affair. Paul leaned towards Mitch and lowered his voice, “Get the
hell out of here, kid.”
Taken aback, Mitch did his best to square his shoulders, “I’m not going
anywhere and I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-one.”
“Like hell you’re twenty-one. Where’d you get the ID, anyway? A cousin, a
brother?”
Mitch flushed and opened his mouth to retort, but Richard suddenly sat down
next to him, all grins and somehow managing to hold five shot glasses in his
hands. “Stop filling my boy’s head with nonsense.” He set the glasses down and
leaned over to Mitch, winking at him, “And you are my boy, aren’t you,
Mitchell-dear?”
It was heady, having a star like Richard Carter smile at him like that. He
nodded and Richard leaned forward, kissing him full on the mouth. Louise and
Mickey whistled, Paul snorted in apparent disgust, and the mysterious redhead
cocked his head to one side and stared openly. After a moment Richard pulled
back and ran his finger through Mitch’s hair. “We are going to have so much
fun.”
Mitch nodded and the redhead finally smiled, before carefully selecting the
shot glass closest to him. “Bottoms up, Mitch.”
He downed it in one gulp and as the others reached for theirs, Richard pushed
one towards Mitch. “Go ahead.”
Taking it, Mitch looked at the small, unassuming glass filled with a water-like
clear substance. How bad could it be, really? His brother loved Vodka, he’d
heard him talk about it with his friends. It wasn’t supposed to have any kind
of taste, which was perfect, because that alcohol taste that had been in every
drink Mitch had had so far had been awful and grating on his throat. With a
deep breath, he tossed it back and nearly choked when it burned its way down.
Richard patted his back as he bent over, coughing. Paul was actually laughing,
and not mockingly, as Mitch would have suspected, but sympathetically. Mitch
wiped his eyes as Richard chuckled, “Never had Vodka before, huh?”
There was no pretending otherwise, so he nodded, sitting up and looking at the
actor, who kept smiling back. “It burned and... is it supposed to taste that
bitter?”
Richard didn’t remark on that, but looked up at the redhead. “Tanner, go get us
another round.”
The boy flipped him the middle finger, but got up to do as he had asked. Mitch
tried to smile at Richard, but the room chose that moment to start spinning, so
he put his head on the table. Paul mumbled something under his breath before
getting up and moving back onto the dance floor. Something warm and wet moved
along Mitch’s ear and he heard Richard say, “He’s such a spoil sport, but don’t
worry about him, he’ll come around. He always does.”
Teeth scraped against his ear and then down his neck and little electric shocks
went through him at the sensation. He moaned, “that’s nice.” But the room was
still spinning and he closed his eyes, trying to block it out. He must have had
too much to drink, because the harder Mitch fought the pull of sleep, the
harder it dragged him under. His last conscious thought was, ‘Damn, mum is
going to be pissed.’
 
*****
 
Light was pouring in from somewhere, piercing his eyes through closed lids. His
tongue was heavy and his head felt like it was full of marshmallows. Mitch
scrunched his eyes tight and turned away from the light, into the soft pillow,
which, unfortunately, required moving. Pain shot through his head and he
groaned, the noise sounded pitifully muffled.
Someone chuckled and the bed dipped behind him. “Finally awake, huh?”
Who the hell was that?
Mitch turned around sharply, holding a hand to his temple and squinting at the
man sitting on the bed next to him. The blanket that had been pulled up to his
shoulders slid down and Mitch became acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing a
shirt. In fact, come to that, he wasn’t wearing his pants either. What the hell
was some strange man doing in his room this early in the morning and why was he
naked?
Slowly, the face in front of him came into focus - dark hair, brilliant blue
eyes, smooth, tan skin. It all came back. The whole night rushed in on him and
Mitch looked around, realizing for the first time that this wasn’t his room.
His room at home had barely been large enough for his twin bed, wardrobe and
small desk; the walls were covered in posters of bands and half naked men that
he’d manage to filch from his best friend Cynthia, who knew someone who worked
at Abercrombie and Fitch.
This room was... fully and completely everything his was not. It was huge,
nearly as big as his parent’s living room. The walls were a pristine egg shell
white and nothing hung off them save a tasteful calendar over an immaculate
desk and a clock over the entertainment center. Oh, and the entertainment
center! It was huge, with a flat screen television, several game consoles, and
a DVD player - not to mention more DVD’s than Mitch had ever seen in a personal
collection. There had to be hundreds.
Looking back at the man now lounging beside him, Mitch shifted uncomfortably.
He wasn’t wearing underwear, either. “Um, hi.”
Richard grinned brightly and patted him on the knee before bounding up and over
to the desk, where a tray sat, holding two mugs of coffee, a plate of toast,
and several jams. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
Mitch frowned down at the assortment, aware for the first time that his stomach
was giving serious protest to all the sudden movement. The toast was slathered
in butter and Richard one picked up, handing it to Mitch, his grin never
wavering. “Don’t worry, it’ll help.”
Reluctantly, he bit into the bread. Several bites later, he had to admit that
it was indeed helping. Richard set the tray down, ordering him to have some
coffee as well and went around a corner, talking cheerfully. “I can’t believe
you slept clear till noon. I was sure you’d be up by nine.”
With an embarrassed pout, Mitch held the mug in both his hands. “I passed out,
then?”
“Of course, right in the middle of the club. I had to carry you to the car.” He
came back out and sat on the bed again, careful not to knock over the tray and
held out two aspirin. “Go ahead, your head’ll be killing you.”
It was, but Mitch had more important things to worry about, “Thank you. For
bringing me with you, I mean. I don’t usually do a lot of drinking; I guess I
didn’t realize I’d be such a light weight.”
“Nonsense, I drugged you. With the amount you drank, I’d hardly call you a
light-weight.”
Mitch’s brain froze. He couldn’t even begin to work through that sentence and
all its implications, especially not when Richard was still smiling at him as
if everything in the world were perfectly normal. Maybe… maybe he’d misheard.
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“I said I’d hardly call you a light weight. I mean, you’re what, five-foot-
four, a hundred and twenty pound?
“Five-foot-five.”
“Well, a hurricane, two and a half daiquiri’s and a shot of vodka’s pretty good
for your size. You know I watched you all night and I kept expecting you to
just keel over any moment, but you held your own. You really don’t do a lot of
drinking?”
Shaking his head, Mitch looked at the aspirin still in his hand. “But you
said... you drugged me?”
Richard nodded, “Of course, when you first walked in I knew I had to have you.”
The inside of Mitch’s stomach, which had begun to enjoy the toast, suddenly
twisted as the implication of what he was being told settled in. Had he been...
date raped? It sounded so impossible, but what Richard was saying reminded him
of all the warnings Cynthia had ever been given by their parents. But Richard
was still smiling and he couldn’t imagine that someone would smile at their
rape victim while telling them what they’d done. Wouldn’t he rather keep it a
secret and let Mitch think he’d just gotten drunk? And not to say that Mitch
had had a great deal of sex, he was still sadly a virgin, but he thought there
might have been some physical indications if he had and right then the only
discomfort he could feel was the pounding of his head and the slight upset of
his stomach.
“Did we...?”
Thankfully, Richard stopped him from having to finish, because he didn’t think
he’d have been able to. With a chuckle and a tap on the nose, the actor stood
up and stretched. “Of course not. I never take advantage of my boys when
they’re unconscious. Look, I need to go out for a while, get some fresh air,
exercise. You’ll be alright here alone?” When Mitch didn’t answer immediately,
he winked. “I’ll bring you back something nice if you promise to behave.”
“I think...” What did he think? Was Richard serious, was he playing? He didn’t
even know Richard Carter past his name and he’d gone home with him. Well,
‘gone’ was debatable, actually, he might have just been taken. This was insane.
“I think I should be going home. My parents are going to be worried.”
“They always are.” The actor stretched his hands over his head, flexing his
well muscled arms. “Look, Mitchell-dear, you aren’t going anywhere, so you
might as well make yourself comfortable.”
As discretely as he could, Mitch looked around the room for his clothes. “Um,
is there a phone that maybe I could call them on? I mean, they might phone the
police if they don’t hear from me.”
Richard began stretching his leg muscles, still looking nonplused by the
conversation. “I’m sure they did that the moment they woke up and you weren’t
in bed, but you’re twenty-one. Boys your age go missing all the time and they
usually show up a few days or weeks later. No one’s going to be looking
especially hard for you.”
Screw his clothes. Jumping up from the bed, Mitch tried to untangle himself
from the covers and run at the same time, but he didn’t even make it past
Richard, who caught him around the waist and held him, laughing as Mitch tried
to elbow and kick him from behind. The actor dropped to the floor, dragging the
fighting teen with him and readjusted his grip so that his arms were wrapped
around Mitch’s thin chest and arms, pinning them to his sides uselessly.
Panting and frustrated, Mitch tried to get his feet under him, but he’d fallen
to his knees and Richard had settled between his legs, making it impossible to
get any kind of footing or do any damage. Finally he tried his last resort and
screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Eventually, he ran out of breath and hung
limply in Richard’s arms, holding back sobs, but just barely.
The actor hummed in his ear quietly, “There you go, it’s okay. Now just calm
down. I’m going to let you go, but I want you to remember a few things, okay,
Mitchell-dear.” A sob came through at the endearment and he twisted again, on
the off-chance that the grip had relaxed. It hadn’t. “I need you to remember
that I am a trained athlete. I am larger, stronger, and older than you. If you
fight me, I will hold you down. If you run, I will catch you, not that there’s
anywhere to run to. Are we clear?”
Tears had started making their way down Mitch’s cheeks, but he didn’t care
about that. He forced himself to nod. It was true. The closest he’d ever come
to physical training was climbing the stairs in school.
“Good. Now, you’ll find that we are on the second floor over a garage. No one
above us, no one bellow us. I live on my parents’ estate, but I live in the
back and no one comes here but me. Not the maid, not my parents, not my sister
Camilla. The only people you might seeare the gardeners and they know better
than to stick their nose into my business. The windows are barred and they are
bullet proof, you won’t be able to break them. They don’t open.”
This was unreal. It couldn’t be happening.
“When I leave, I will dead bolt the door from the outside. When I’m home, I
lock the doors and turn on the alarm. If you try to get out, you will wake me
up and, trust me, Mitchell-dear, you do not want to wake me up.” The arms
around him loosened a fraction, but Mitch felt too weak and numb to fight
against them. “That’s better. Now what say we get that aspirin in you.”
It took several attempts for Mitch to choke down the little white pills. In the
end they dissolved on his tongue and he swallowed the bitter tasting water
between the sobs that wracked his body. Why had he gone out without telling
Cynthia? Why had he accepting a drink from a complete stranger? Because the
stranger had been Richard bloody Carter and he hadn’t thought, hadn’t even
dreamed that someone so famous and so gorgeous could be such a nut job.
Richard put a hand on his head and stood up, looking down at him with the cocky
sort of smile that Mitch used to think was cute - on Richard, it was scary.
“Those’ll probably make you feel a bit drowsy after a while. You try and get
out, or do whatever else you want and then take a nap. We’re going to have a
get together tonight. Just you, me, and some of my friends. How does that
sound?”
Since it was obvious that Richard wanted an answer, Mitch nodded. People were
good. If there were people around, maybe he could get a message to them to call
the cops or something. Richard chuckled and walked past him, stopping at the
door just long enough to send one last warning, “Behave yourself, Mitchell-
dear,” before closing the door.
The lock clicked into place and Mitch let his head fall forward onto the floor
and gave way to the urge to cry.
 
*****
 
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up!”
The phone was screaming at him. Paul hated being woken up by the damned phone.
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up!”
He especially hated it when it was Richard.
“Paul, buddy, get your...”
He grabbed his cell and clicked the talk button, pressing it to his ear, “What
the fuck, Rich, it’s...” He shoved the water bottles off his bedside table in
search of his alarm and squinted to focus on the blurry, red number. Well,
shit. “Is it really almost one?”
Richard chuckled, “In the afternoon. Get up, I’ll be at your place in five. Our
trainers’ll be pissed if we’re late again.”
His stomach rolled as Paul forced himself to sit up. “I don’t think I can do it
today. That shit we hit last night must have been laced because my head is
killing me.”
“Suck it up! If we miss another session, they might call our managers and I am
not in the mood to deal with Peterson today. Take an Excedrine, a Tylenol and a
caffeine pill and get your ass in gear. I’ll be at your door in a few.”
The phone clicked off and Paul tossed it down on the bed, throwing back the
sheet while he rummaged on his floor for clothes. His workout gear was in the
locker at the gym and it was a good twenty minute ride, so the medicine should
kick in before they got there. He pulled on his jeans and yanked the t-shirt
over his head - then took the shirt off again and put it on the right way.
He pushed his sunglasses on his face and ran his hand through his hair. That
was the last time he let Richard talk him into going clubbing the day before
work out. And then he remembered last night. “Fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!”
Sitting up, he put his head in his hands and tried to think. Small, with sandy
hair that hung around his ears, light hazel eyes, pale complexion and young,
very, very young. God, what had Richard been thinking? Or, more importantly,
what had Richard been thinking with. There was no way that kid had been over
eighteen, let alone twenty-fucking-one. Closing his eyes, Paul tried to
remember the rest. They’d danced, then gone back to the table. Richard had
bought the kid a drink, a shot of something and... everything went hazy after
that, but Paul was sure of one thing. The kid had definitely gone home with
Richard. Shit!
A knock on his bedroom door jarred him out of his thoughts and he grabbed his
blazer, pulling it over his wrinkled clothes. Richard thrust a small plastic
baggie with six pills inside it into Paul’s hand with a winning smile. “You
always forget. Come on, I’ve got water in the car.”
The drive was unusually silent, mostly because the sunlight seared Paul’s eyes
and he was trying to let the drugs work their miracle. By the time they got to
the gym, he still felt like shit and he knew he looked it, but he also knew
that he could get through the routine without vomiting all over his trainer.
Again.
They waved at the receptionist and went down to the locker rooms to get
dressed. Paul imagined that he’d make quite the picture for the tabloids right
about then. There was no question what he had been up to the night before. As
usual, the locker rooms were empty this time of day, and Paul finally forced
himself to ask the question that had been eating at him. “So, how’s the kid?”
Richard chuckled, pulling his clothes off shamelessly. “He’s fine. A little
disoriented, but otherwise okay. I think I gave him too much. He slept clear
till noon.”
Paul nodded. “Has he said anything?”
“Not really. He lives with his parents, which’ll make things admittedly more
difficult, but otherwise I think he’s good.”
He lived with his parents? “Richard, you haven’t done anything with him yet,
have you?”
“‘Course not, you know my routine better than anyone. Speaking of which, party
tonight, in honor of my new guest. I’m counting on you.”
Paul cringed, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t expected it. Richard was, if nothing
else, a man firmly entrenched in routine. “Richard, I don’t think he’s...”
The door opened and a man came in, halting their conversation. They smiled at
him and finished lacing up their shoes before heading up the back stairs to the
room where their trainers would be waiting. Richard preferred to keep his sex
life under wraps for obvious reasons and while his closest friends knew that he
was gay, he’d told no one else, not even his family. He always said it was
easier to keep a secret if no one knew about it. An image popped into Paul’s
head of the boy, smiling up at Richard with the kind of adoration that only the
truly young and naive possess.
He’d have to talk with Richard again later, after the workout, before the
party. Before things became irreversible.
His trainer was a young Russian girl named Claudia. She had waist length brown
hair that she always pulled back into a tight bun and darkly tanned skin that
spoke of hours in the sun. He towered over her in both height and stature,
which was probably why having her scream at him for an hour and a half was such
a turn on. He’d always gotten off on forceful women. Well, that and submissive
boys, but one should always keep their options open.
When they’d finally finished and Richard was wiping sweat off his brow, talking
to Roberto about why he hadn’t pulled his normal weight. Paul took the
opportunity to do something he’d been wanting to do for some time: ask Claudia
out. However, being twenty-five and movie star did not mean he was good at
picking up women. It was one of the reasons he stayed the hell out of the
dating scene.
“Hey, uh, Claudia?”
She turned around, smiling brightly as if she hadn’t called him a useless sack
of pig guts not five minutes previously. “Is something wrong, Paul? You appear
pale.”
He chuckled at her dialect, but then he also had a thing for accents and hers
was adorable. “Not really, but, um, I was wondering...” she raised an eyebrow
expectantly and he got the impression from the quirk of her mouth, that she
knew what he was about to say, but was letting him drag it out. “Would you, I
dunno, like to go out sometime? Maybe to the theater or to get something to
eat? There’s this play I’ve been wanting to go see and...”
She put a finger to his lips, “I cannot date clients, Paul, no matter how much
I may be fond of them.” He felt the pangs of rejection in the pit of his
stomach. “So, then, I suppose that for one night, you will have to fire me.”
The pangs were replaced by hopeful butterflies, “Really?” She nodded, her
cheeks pink with blush. “Can I change my mind in the morning?”
With a laugh, she nodded again. “Or the afternoon, depending on how well the
date goes, no?”
He started to laugh with her, but Richard interrupted. “What’s going on?”
Paul shook his head, “Nothing, I’m just thinking about firing my trainer.”
Richard looked very confused at the girl’s smile, but Paul didn’t give him time
to question it. “Let’s get dressed. I’ll call you tomorrow, Claudia, okay?”
She waved at him and turned to talk to Roberto, who was frowning at her in
disapproval. Richard took his arm. “Got a date?”
“Yup.”
“She’s a spitfire.”
“That’s how I like them.”
“I know.” And he did, because Richard knew everything there was to know about
Paul and Paul knew everything there was to know about Richard. “Now, let’s get
dressed and grab a bite to eat before I head out.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Mitch was terrified.
The first thing he’d done after Richard had left wasget dressed. He’d found a
large button up shirt that smelled almost like the lemon detergent his mother
used, a pair of boxers that kept trying to fall off his hips, and shorts that
had to be synched with a belt and hung down to below his knees. It was awkward,
but at least he wasn’t naked. Once he’d dressed, he’d tried the door, but it
wouldn’t budge. The closet had all plastic hangers and he’d searched for a
while for something he could pick the lock with, but there wasn’t anything. Not
that Mitch knew how to pick a lock, anyway.
His next goal had been to find a phone, because surely Richard would want to
call people, but there wasn’t a phone anywhere, only a phone jack that
connected to the laptop, which was password protected. Having failed that, he
decided to try the windows, but they were sealed shut, without even a latch.
Then he’d sat on the bed and stared at his surroundings for a good ten minutes
before grabbing the desk chair and slamming it into the window. It bounced off,
hitting his shoulder painfully. He’d thrown other things at the window as well,
mostly out of frustration, but also because he was nearing hysterics and at
least this was something, it wasn’t giving up. Although, to be honest, even if
he could have broken it, the bars were too closely spaced for him to get out.
Eventually, after nearly an hour of tossing the room around, the heavy lethargy
from the pills had become too much and he laid down on the bed, falling asleep
almost instantly. It wasn’t until he had woken up and sluggishly rubbed his
eyes into focus that he realized exactly how much damage he had done. Oh, he
hadn’t broken anything, but everything, from Richard’s clothes, to his medicine
bottles, were strewn across the floor and the window was covered in sticky soda
and beer from the cans he had thrown at it.
The clock read 6:07 p.m. and Mitch looked around for any sign that Richard had
come back. Nothing. He’d been gone for six hours. Standing up, Mitch clutched
at the wall as a wave of dizziness hit him. Not good. He couldn’t afford to
pass out again, he couldn’t sit down, he had to keep moving, had to clean up
the mess. The dizziness refused to pass, so he sat on the floor and started
gathering clothes and anything else that he could remember having been in the
closet.
An armful at a time, he hauled everything over and shoved it inside, then
forced the door closed and put his back to it, looking out at the rest of the
room. The desk, he should put everything back in the desk drawers next. He
stood up and was pleased that the room wasn’t spinning quite as much - at
least, he could walk without support. Then the door opened.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, because he certainly hadn’t thought the
entire room would be done by the time Richard got back, but of all the
scenarios he’d run through his head in the last twenty minutes, it had always
been Richard who walked through the door. Instead, he was faced with the
redhead from the club. “What the bloody hell, Richard, your place is a fucking
mess!”
He barely had time to realize the accent was English before Mickey pushed
through, “Fuck!”
Richard squeezed in between them and his eyebrows shot up. Mitch had pushed
himself into the far corner at the foot of the bed when he’d heard the key in
the lock, but he was starting to wish he’d left himself somewhere else to run,
especially when Richard locked eyes with him. “Awake, then?”
He nodded, ashamed at the way he was shaking and Richard chuckled, walking over
to him and rustling his hair. “I didn’t expect you to start moving for another
hour, at least. You just keep surprising me.” He kicked the cans towards his
desk, “Come on in. You’ll have to excuse the mess, Mitchell-dear got a little
restless.”
The redhead, he vaguely remembered his name was Tanner, eyed Mitch, taking in
the small boy in baggy clothes, “Guess you shouldn’t leave him alone just yet.”
Louis came in after his brother, whistling, and Paul came through last, closing
the door behind him and punching in a sequence of numbers on the keypad before
turning the lock into place. Mitch wished dearly that he could see through the
wall. They arranged themselves around the room. Richard took the middle of the
bed, leaning against the wall. Paul sat next to him against the headboard and
toed off his shoes, sprawling casually on the pillows. Louis and Mickey sat on
the floor and Tanner pulled the desk chair around, sitting in it with his legs
sprawled open and his elbows on his knees.
They watched television, random shows, whatever was on. Richard beckoned for
Mitch to join him on the bed and when Mitch tried to shake his head no, he’d
grabbed his arm and yanked him up, holding him there with an arm around his
shoulder. He felt like a small child being tossed around by his father and it
occurred to him exactly how useless trying to fight this man would be. He could
probably use Mitch as a bench press.
For a while, Richard seemed interested in some program about a serial killer
and how he had gotten away with murdering ten people over the course of six
years. They had started describing the killers methodology, which was
apparently strangulation and Mitch started to feel sick as he watched Richard’s
face. It was almost like he was studying it. Just when he thought he might
actually throw up, Paul grabbed the remote and changed the channel, saying that
he didn’t feel like watching ‘this shit.’
When they got bored of television, Richard made the boys put a video game in,
and they started in on Halo, two against two with Louis and Mickey trading off.
Richard made Mitch play a few times. It was easy, just for those brief moments,
to forget where he was and who he was sitting next to and the fact that it
wasn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, consensual. He’d laughed when he’d
managed to kill Louis once and Richard had hugged him and kissed his cheek,
humming approval in his ear. It was fun.
“You boys ready?” It was almost a whisper, but the others heard it.
Tanner narrowed his eyes at Richard, “Where’d you get it this time?”
Richard chuckled, his mouth still close to Mitch’s ear. “Don’t ask, don’t tell,
Tanner, my boy, but it’s quality. It always is.”
Very slowly, Mitch began to realize that they were talking about drugs. He
hadn’t had much experience with the stuff. In fact, he had none and the idea of
Richard on drugs scared the shit out of him. Richard pulled away and dug into
his pocket, producing a small bottle that looked like it was from a pharmacy.
He opened it and fished out three before handing it to Mickey. “Take one and
pass it along.”
As the others took the little white pills and shoved them in their mouths,
swigging them down with beer, Richard passed one to Paul and took one himself.
Paul looked at it and finally shook his head. “Not tonight, Richard.”
Richard grinned lewdly and leaned over Paul, licking his cheek. “Don’t make me
beg.”
Mitch got the feeling that begging was the last thing Richard would do, not
with the way he was grinning like an animal on the hunt. Paul sighed and popped
it in and Richard kissed him, full on the mouth. It was heart stopping for a
moment. There wasn’t any tongue and it didn’t appear particularly lusty, but
something about the two of them and the way Richard’s pants were pressed tight
against Paul’s leg, was breathtaking.
Finally, after several seconds, Richard pulled away. “Good boy. We are going to
have so much fun tonight.” Then, he turned his attention to Mitch. “Open up,
Mitchell-dear, you’re going to take a little ride.”
He’d never done drugs before and he wasn’t about to start now, not with some
psychopathic kidnapper and his group of equally psychotic friends. Mitch
started to back up, but suddenly someone was behind him and he looked back to
see Tanner holding his shoulders and staring intently at him. “Trust him,
Mitch, you’ll want it.”
But he didn’t want it, he wanted to go home. How could he have forgotten, for
even a moment, who these people were? He’d been kidnapped for no apparent
reason and was being held captive in the garage apartment of a twenty-
something-year-old actor and these men were the man’s accomplices. He tried to
pull away from Tanner, but Richard had sat on his legs and he couldn’t go
anywhere. “I don’t want to.”
Richard frowned, “Doesn’t matter. Open up or I’ll make you.”
It wasn’t an empty threat. Mitch didn’t doubt for an instant that Richard could
indeed make him, but he wasn’t going to just roll over and take what they told
him to. What if it was crazy addictive? What if he had some kind of allergic
reaction? Would they take him to a hospital or even a doctor, or would they
just let him die?
However, Richard wasn’t waiting for an answer. He grabbed Mitch’s jaw between
his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Tanner’s grip on his shoulders’
tightened as Mitch tried to scoot back from the prying hand. Slowly, his jaw
was forced open and Richard shoved the pill between his teeth and let go, only
to clamp the hand over his mouth. “Swallow.”
Mitch could feel tears tracking down his cheeks. He couldn’t shake his head, he
couldn’t do anything when he was sandwiched between two men, both larger and
stronger than he was. Finally, he slumped down and closed his eyes, forcing
himself to swallow. It left a chalky taste in his mouth that was quickly
overpowered by the salty tang of Richard’s finger as it searched around, trying
to find any trace that the pill was still there.
With a great deal of effort, Mitch managed not to bite down and Richard pulled
out the finger, smiling down at him. “Good boy. You can let him go, Tanner.”
The redhead licked Mitch’s ear as he let go of his shoulders and Mitch jerked
away, pressing himself against the wall and as far away from everyone else as
he could. Why were they all leering at him like that? But they stopped, almost
as soon as they started. Tanner sat back on his chair and he and Louis picked
up the controllers again. Mickey had never let go of his. Richard offered Paul
a turn, but the other man passed, so Richard ruffled Mickey’s hair
affectionately. “It’s you and me against the world.”
Mitch watched, heavy with uncertainty. He couldn’t feel anything yet, but as
he’d never done drugs before, he really wasn’t sure how long it would be before
he did. Part of him wanted to ask what it was he’d taken, another part was
simply relieved that they were leaving him alone again. Maybe that was all
Richard wanted for now. Maybe they would get high and play video games all
night and that was it.
It started with the urge to scratch his arm. He’d been hugging himself since
they had forced the drug on him and suddenly his arm itched. He moved his hand,
scratching the spot and looked at it. There wasn’t any kind of rash. Richard
was looking at him and he started to scoot away nervously, only to have the
larger man reach other out wrap an arm around him, dragging him over.
“Let’s give our guest have a turn, eh?”
Paul sucked in his breath sharply and Mitch looked over at him. The blond
haired man was sitting in the corner watched them warily, as if he expected
something bad to happen. Mitch remembered Paul’s words that night at the club,
‘get the hell out of here, kid.’ He didn’t want to imagine what was going to
happen. He just wanted to play video games until he passed out and maybe he
could convince Richard to take him home in the morning.
The actor grabbed his face, kissing him soundly. Mitch’s lips tingled at the
contact and he let out a startled moan. Before he could determine what it was,
though, Richard pulled away and moved him over to sit between his legs,
thrusting the controller into his hand. “Try and concentrate.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he resolved to do his best. Tanner was
feeling ruthless, but luckily Mickey had his back or he’d have died several
more times than he already had. Louis was creeping around a corner and Mitch
had him in his sights. He pressed the button just as a hand crept under his
lose fitting shirt and pinched his nipple. His squeak of surprise was covered
by Louis outraged cry as his screen went red and he rematerialized in another
area. Mitch, however, wasn’t paying attention to that. His nipple was tingling
sharply where Richard’s fingers were rolling it and his cock had become
instantly hard.
He couldn’t bite back a moan as Richard scraped his ear with his teeth and
squeezed his nipple again. Mitch had only ever made out with two boys before -
a friend of his brother’s last year and his boyfriend Mark - but he knew what
it felt like when someone pinched his nipple or bit his ear and it had never
felt anything like this. Everywhere Richard touched, his body started to itch
for more contact. It was embarrassing and arousing and the conflict of emotions
was enough to nearly send him into frustrated tears.
Richard chuckled and trailed kisses from his collarbone back up to his ear.
“Keep playing.”
He forced his hands to move, though he really wasn’t sure what he was doing.
There was a small portion of his brain that registered he’d fallen off the edge
of something and lost hit points, but the majority of his mental faculties were
rapidly turning to mush as Richard unbuttoned the borrowed shirt and ran his
broad hands over the exposed skin underneath. It felt so good! Mitch took one
hand off the controller and put it over Richard’s, not sure whether he was
trying to pull it away, or push it lower.
With another lazy lick up the side of his neck, Richard’s hand crept down,
delving into the loose fitting shorts. The moment the large hand wrapped around
his cock, Mitch came, spewing cum inside his trousers. But his erection didn’t
flag and Richard didn’t falter, not in the least daunted by the fact that his
partner had already cum. Mitch whined piteously and found himself grinding into
the hand, humiliated, but desperate for the contact.
The others were still playing the game, though he’d begun to notice through his
haze that they were occasionally touching themselves, Paul especially, who
couldn’t stop rubbing his arms as if he were cold - except it wasn’t cold in
the room. The drugs. His moans rose in volume as Richard moved his fingers to
scrape Mitch’s tight balls, over and under. It must have been the drugs,
because Mitch had never felt anything like this.
One of Richard’s fingers crept lower still and brushed against the puckered
entrance of his ass and Mitch’s brain suddenly decided to start working again.
He wanted to be touched, god he wanted to be touched everywhere, but he didn’t
want that. Forcing his legs closed, he wondered half heartedly when they had
fallen open in the first place. He grabbed onto Richard’s arm and tried to move
his hand back up and into safe territory, but the actor was far stronger than
him and whatever they’d given him made his muscles feel weak and useless.
For a moment, Richard allowed agonizing respite, taking his hand out of Mitch’s
pants so that he could use it to help trap both of the smaller boy’s wrists.
Mitch groaned desperately, wishing he’d fought harder against taking the drug
or not gone out on his birthday at all. Richard held his wrists tightly and
grinned at his friends sitting on the floor. “Louis, get up here and help.”
The controller was dropped and Tanner scowled, apparently annoyed at having his
partner abandon him. Louis, however, didn’t seem to mind in the least. He
grinned like a Cheshire cat and crawled onto the bed, grabbing Mitch’s tightly
closed knees and prying them apart. “Be a good boy, Mitch. We just want to play
with you.”
Louis positioned himself with his shoulders between Mitch’s knees, which put
Louis’s face just above his crotch. This wasn’t happening. Mitch was torn
between whining and moaning as Richard adjusted his grip to hold both of the
wrists in one hand and put the other back in his trousers, bypassing his cock
and going straight for his ass.
Mitch tried to lift his hips away from the contact, but Louis had wrapped his
arms under and around his thighs, holding his down against the bed as Richard
forced the tip of the digit past the resistance of his hole. It hurt a little,
the dry finger rubbing past the tightly clenched hole, but it was the
embarrassment of the situation that hurt the worst.
He’d had fantasies about losing his virginity, just like everyone else. He
generally imagined it would be in his bed or the back of a car with loud music
playing. Overall, he didn’t really expect a great deal from a first time
experience, but he’d never imagined it would be like this, not with two men
holding him down while three others alternately watched and played video games.
Richard pulled the finger out and put it in front of Louis’s face, “Suck it.”
Louis grinned and Mitch stared, open-mouthed as Richard’s finger was sucked
into the Spaniard’s mouth. After several seconds of lathering spit on it,
Richard pulled it away and put it back in Mitch’s pants. This time the finger
had no trouble gaining entrance and it slipped in to the knuckle with ease.
Mitch cried out, more from the suddenness than pain. In fact, with the addition
of spit, the pain was practically non-existent, replaced by the overwhelming
sensation of relief brought on by the drug.
From the floor, Mickey was half paying attention to them and half trying to win
the battle against Tanner, who seemed to have a personal vendetta against the
man. “Louis, do that thing where you suck him. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Louis grinned at Mitch, who did moan this time, because his groin ached for
attention and if there was one thing that would take his mind off the finger
slowly fucking his ass, having his cock sucked was it. The Spaniard licked
trail up the inside of Mitch’s thigh before look past him at Richard, “Can I,
Rich, can I suck his cock?”
“Be my guest.”
Louis removed himself from between Mitch’s legs long enough to pull off the
shorts, but by now, he’d almost resigned himself to the finger forced between
his cheeks and besides, it was only a finger and it almost felt good. At the
very least, it satisfied the drug-induced itch. When Louis leaned back over and
took just the head of his cock between his lips, Mitch very nearly came again.
In fact, it was the tight grip that Louis had on the base of his shaft that
kept the orgasm at bay. Mitch’s vocabulary had been reduced to moan, whimper,
groan and whine. Four very undignified gestures that clawed their way out of
his throat whether he wanted them to or not. Like now. He wanted Louis to do
more, so he whined, but what he was doing felt so good that he moaned.
Mitch heard Richard chuckle in his ear and whimpered, because Richard’s
laughter did not necessarily mean that things were okay. “Louis, suck the boy
off before he has an aneurism.”
As with every order and request Richard had given to his friends, this one was
obeyed. Louis pulled his lips over his teeth and sank his mouth around Mitch’s
cock until it rested just at his throat. Then he swallowed. With or without the
drug, Mitch would have cum. The tight, convulsing heat of the back of Louis’s
throat sent him far more than over the edge and he actually cried out in
pleasure as he came, bucking his hips forward as best he could and driving
himself onto the finger still wedged in his ass.
Despite the fact that he had cum, Louis wasn’t stopped. He sucked it down,
swallowed, and fastidiously licked around Mitch’s cock, cleaning the mess
before taking the still throbbing erection into his mouth and suckling it
lightly. Richard moaned with him, licking his ear, but Mitch couldn’t
distinguish anything other than pleasure at the moment.
Richard pulled his finger out and Mitch felt two take its place, pushing inside
of him. He pulled away and felt the barest scraping of teeth against the
underside of his cock. The fingers hurt, like they were tearing at his skin.
Richard grunted disapprovingly and Louis gripped his thighs against, forcing
him to sit still.
“Tanner.” Tanner didn’t look at Richard, but kept his eyes pealed where Mitch’s
cock disappeared into Louis’s mouth. “Get the lubricant out of the desk drawer.
I swear he’s as tight as a virgin.”
There was a round of chuckles, even Paul, though his seemed more cynical. Mitch
closed his eyes, fighting the build up of tears, but there really wasn’t
anything he could do about it. He could tell Richard his age, but he was afraid
of how the man would react, he could tell him that he was a virgin, but he was
afraid they’d think it was more fun that way. When the fingers returned they
were cold and covered in something slick, but they didn’t hurt this time. They
stretched him a little too wide, perhaps, but not severely so.
“Much better.” Mitch groaned as the fingers pulled out of him and pushed back
in, while Louis bobbed his head up and down his overly sensitive prick. Maybe
if this was all there was...
Richard pushed his fingers in deeper and crooked them, sending off electric
shocks of pleasure racing through Mitch’s body. The mouth on him vibrated at
Louis chuckled and then pulled up. “Think he’s ready?”
The fingers pressed into that spot again and Mitch’s hips thrust of their own
accord. Richard bit his earlobe. “Yeah, I do.”
Ready for what? Louis used his grip on Mitch’s legs to pull him so that his
wrists, still caught in Richard’s hand, were held just above him and his head
was in Richard’s lap, the actor’s hard cock pressed against his cheek through a
pair of tight pants. Louis looked up. “Mind if I?”
Richard smiled cordially. “Not at all. Think of it as a reward for being such a
good little cock sucker.”
Reward? What reward? He looked at Louis and saw him hastily undoing his zipper
and pulling his cock out, not even bothering to drop his pants fully. Not that.
Despite his drug addled mind, he knew very well where this was going and he
didn’t want it. It didn’t matter that it had felt kind of good so far, he
didn’t want it. While Louis was busy stroking lubricant on himself, Mitch
pulled one of his legs back, putting all the strength he could muster into
kicking the man in the stomach. He celebrated a very small victory as the
Spaniard doubled over, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach. “Little...
shit.”
Paul laughed from his corner, a real laugh this time. “That’s what you get for
wanting to be first, Louie. Greedy asshole's, you are.”
Louis scowled and locked eyes with Mitch, who had pulled his legs up in a vain
attempt to cover himself and was desperately trying to pry his wrists out of
Richard’s grip. “I’ll show you a greedy asshole.”
And before Mitch even knew what was happening, Louis had grabbed his legs and
yanked him back to the edge of the bed. Mitch barely had enough time to realize
that he seriously regretted pissing the man off, before something warm nudged
his ass and pushed into him, hard. If it wasn’t for the men holding him down,
he would have arched off the bed entirely. As it was, he could only scream,
loudly, as he felt something tear viciously inside of him.
Louis didn’t wait for him to adjust, but started to slam into him rapidly and
Mitch was reduced to choking on his own screams as the pain doubled and tripled
with every movement of the cock inside of him. It was a thankfully short time
before Louis came, ramming himself as deep into Mitch as he could before
spilling his seed. With a contented sigh, the Spaniard pulled out and pet the
side of Mitch’s face, saying, “That’s a good boy,” before shoving his penis
back into his pants and sitting down to take up his controller again.
Richard let go of his arms and Mitch rolled over, covering his face with his
hands and sobbing into them. His entire body shook with the force of it. Behind
him, he felt the bed dip, but he knew it wasn’t Richard because the man’s legs
were still on either side of him. He felt a hand run down the length of his
spine. On instinct, he flung an arm back, intending to knock the person away,
but it was caught and he looked back to see Tanner, staring at him in open
lust.
“No.” He didn’t know why he said it, because it wasn’t like it would matter.
The redhead grinned at him and shoved his arm back around and onto the bed near
his head. After a good amount of struggling, Mitch managed to dislodge his
other arm from under him, but Tanner grabbed that one as well, using it to
forced Mitch onto his stomach. Tanner straddled Mitch’s legs at his knees and
bent down, kissing the pale neck under him. Mitch’s face was turned towards
Paul, who watched with a strained glare as Tanner let go of one of the captive
arms and positioned his straining erection against Mitch’s torn and bloodied
hole.
He didn’t know if he’d expected it to hurt less, he certainly hadn’t expected
it to hurt more, but Tanner’s cock felt like it was ripping him apart as it
pushed into him. Mitch couldn’t hold back his scream at the first penetration
and although the pain only got worse from there, he managed to bite down on his
lip and keep his noises to a minimal as he was fucked into the mattress.
Paul’s glare melted into lust after several conflicting minutes and Tanner
chuckled behind Mitch, his voice husky with the excursion of fucking the
unwilling body pinned bellow him. “Touch yourself for me, Paul.”
Mitch felt like he was in some kind of dream, except that dreams weren’t
supposed to hurt. But, then, who was to say that things didn’t hurt in dreams
and you just didn’t remember it later. An extra hard thrust from Tanner and
Mitch couldn’t hold back a sharp cry. Please, god, let this be a dream, let it
be something he wouldn’t remember in the morning.
Paul had taken his cock out and stroked it fast and brutally. With a detached
bit of interest, Mitch wondered if it would bruise. Suddenly, Tanner pulled out
of him and a relieved whimper escaped his throat. Let it be over. Anything to
let it be over. But he knew it wasn’t over, in fact, he got the feeling it was
only beginning.
The two men, Tanner and Richard, manipulated Mitch’s body so that he was on his
hands and knees across the length of the bed, his ass extended towards Paul,
who had stopped stroking himself and was staring at his penis with an offended
look. While Mitch continued to look behind him in sick fascination, Tanner
kissed Paul full on the mouth, drawing his attention away from his abused cock.
“Paul, love?” Paul stared at Tanner now, his large eyes were dilated and huge,
his cheeks pink with lust. “Paul, I want you to fuck Mitch while I fuck you.”
Paul moaned and let Tanner help him up. Mitch shifted on the bed, planning to
roll off and away. He didn’t want to be fucked again, he didn’t. He wanted it
to stop. Richard, however, grabbed his elbows and lifted them, holding him half
off the bed and stopping him from moving away. The older man looked at him
sternly, saying only, “Stay,” before letting go.
Mitch closed his eyes as he felt hands gripping his hips and another cock
searing into him. It felt bigger and it stretched him wider, went into him
deeper. Mitch grit his teeth to keep back the pleas that were trying to break
free. He wouldn’t beg them, he wouldn’t.
Suddenly, Richard gripped his jaw and made him look up at the actor, who was
grinning maliciously. “You know what I want you to do?” Mitch shook his head
dumbly, thinking was out of the question, the only thing he could really do
right now was feel pain and humiliation. Richard’s fingers tightened. “I want
you to open your mouth and suck my cock and you don’t want to know what’ll
happen if I feel teeth.”
As Richard let go of his face and started to undo his trousers, Paul stopped
moving behind him and Mitch heard him grunt and Tanner moan as Paul’s hips were
pressed even tighter against his ass. He opened his mouth, having decided that
he really had no pride left anyway, and maybe a little begging was in order,
because it just hurt so much. Before he could say anything, however, the blood
engorged head of Richard’s cock pushed between his lips and into his mouth,
muffling his would-be protests.
The thing sliding into his mouth was even more disgusting than having his ass
fucked, if less painful and Mitch pushed at it with his tongue, intent on
getting it out. Richard moaned at the contact and put a hand on the back of
Mitch’s head, pushing it down so that the head of his cock pressed into the
back of Mitch’s throat. Frantically, Mitch put his hands on Richard’s thighs,
trying to push back, but that only pushed him onto the cock driving into him
from behind.
Richard gripped his hair and started to move his head up and down driving into
the back of his throat with every thrust. Paul seemed to take that as his cue
and began to pull out, only to be forced back in as Tanner pushed forward as
well. They built up something of a rhythm and Mitch felt himself being jarred
back and forth between the three lust-hungry men.
Then, things got worse. Paul shifted angles, just a fraction and Mitch felt his
body light up, as if it were on fire. His cock stood to immediate attention and
he moaned, the vibrations in his throat causing Richard to grind deeper. “Oh,
god, do that again.”
Whether he was talking to Paul or to Mitch, it didn’t matter, because Paul
didn’t seem inclined to stop. Every time that hated, hurtful cock brushed
against that spot inside him, Mitch felt himself getting closer and closer to
orgasm, until Paul reached around, stroking his cock and it crashed over him
and he closed his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks as pleasure ripped
through him, just as flair bright as the pain. Paul groaned as Mitch’s body
tensed and he felt hot cum spilling into his raw insides. By the sounds that
Tanner was making, he followed quickly. Richard shoved his cock down Mitch’s
throat, holding it there while it contracted around his cock, desperate to
drive out the invader and get fresh air into his lungs. Mitch was just starting
to think he might be sick when Richard pulled back just enough for him to
breath and shot his load down the back of the gasping throat.
They pulled out of him all at once and Mitch kept his eyes averted down, afraid
to look at them, afraid that if he moved even that much he’d be sick all over
the bed. He could taste the bitterness of Richard in his mouth and feel the
sticky residue of Paul and Louis on his thighs and ass cheeks. It was
disgusting, he’d never get clean of it, not after a hundred showers, not even
if he ripped his skin off. The dirt was inside him.
A hand wrapped in his hair and a pulled him up, crushing his mouth against
someone else’s. He didn’t even care who anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking that
he’d gotten off on it. They’d raped him and he’d gotten off three times.
Somehow he knew it was Richard’s tongue swirling around in his mouth, tasting
the left over seed on his gums and under his tongue. The actor pulled away
after nearly a minute, taking in Mitch’s dazed, expression and swollen lips. He
looked proud of himself. “That’s my boy.”
It was disgusting. Mitch’s lip started to tremble. Oh, god, he was going to
cry, really cry. Not just sob or weep because he was in pain, but outright cry.
He could feel the hysteria building in his chest.
It was abruptly interrupted, however, as someone else grabbed his shoulders and
turned him around into another kiss. It was someone new, someone he hadn’t
kissed yet. For a moment, his mind went blank, but just as quickly, he knew. It
was Mickey. He wrenched his mouth away, but only got out, “No...” before Mickey
grabbed the back of his head, forcing him back into the kiss. He didn’t close
his eyes, afraid that something would happen while he wasn’t looking. Paul and
Tanner were still in the corner of the bed, now making out, grinding against
each other, the rest of the room forgotten. Richard had scooted back, his gaze
flipping between his two friends and Mitch in clear amusement.
Mickey let go of his head and looked up, catching Richard’s eye. “I want him to
ride me.”
Mitch tried to push him away again. “Stop! Please, let go!”
Richard frowned at that and came forward, grabbing Mitch’s forearms. Between
the two of them they manhandled him to straddle the Spaniard, ignoring his
protests. “I don’t... please... let me go... just please sto...” He was cut off
as Mickey grabbed hips in his hands and pulled him down over his cock with a
satisfied moan. It was all he could do not to scream. Again. Every tear ripped
wider and rawer and he leaned on Richard, because his legs had given out.
Louis, who had put his controller down in favor of watching his brother,
suddenly stood up and leaned over Richard, biting his ear and whispering
something in it. Mickey was too busy using Mitch’s hips to guide his body up
and down on his cock to notice. Either that, or he didn’t care. Whatever the
man said made Richard frown a little and the actor caught Mitch’s eyes while he
spoke, as if sizing him up. “Not really sure that’s such a good idea, Louis.
He’s in pretty rough shape already.”
“Come on, Rich, it’ll be fun and it’s not like he hasn’t done things before. We
got him from Humps for god’s sake. He’s probably been passed around the
bathroom more times than he can remember.”
Mitch was too scared to contradict that. He hadn’t even known the name of the
club he’d been taken from. He’d gone to the strip, found a place that had good
music and started drinking. Richard stared at the boy for several seconds
before suddenly shrugged, pulling the teen forward with a grip on the back of
his neck so that he was nearly laying flat against Mickey, “Go ahead.”
Louis kissed Richard on the mouth, slipping his tongue into the actor’s mouth
for a second before pulling away and moving out of Mitch’s line of vision.
Mitch thought he heard noise behind him, but he was too frightened to think
about what the meant. Looking up at Richard with large, doe eyes, he asked,
“What’s he doing?”
Richard’s only response was to squeeze his fingers tighter and Mitch struggled
a little, trying to see behind him, but Richard’s grip prevented it and
finally, he looked at Richard pleadingly. The dark haired man gave him what
could have been a reassuring smile coming from anyone else. “Relax, Mitchell-
dear, it’s almost over.”
Mickey shifted under him, the cock in his ass pulling at a strange angle and
then there was something else pressing against his hole and nudging it open
further, forcing it wider. It took him a moment to comprehend what was going
on. The pain was beyond screaming, he just stared forward, eyes wide, mouth
gaping for breath as he felt Louis’s cock press in next to Mickey’s, stretching
him more.
It wasn’t possible. How could anyone...? But it was possible and now that he
was in, Louis was moving and Mickey was moving too, although shorter jabs,
while his brother was taking long strokes. Something in Mitch had the decency
to be thankful the pain overrode any pleasure there might have been, because he
didn’t want to cum again, but that part was overridden by the very desperate
need for them to stop.
Breath invaded his lungs all at once and he screamed wordlessly, pulling
himself towards Richard in an effort to get away from the invading cocks inside
him. Even the insane actor was better than this. “Please!” He couldn’t disguise
the desperation in his voice, didn’t want to. “Stop it, please!” He sobbed
between words, tears pouring down his face, “Please? Please?! Oh, god!” It
wasn’t helping, they weren’t stopping. He wanted to die.
Louis stilled inside him and then pulled out, apparently spent. Richard let go
of one of Mitch’s hands and stroked his head, pulling him up into a kiss while
Mickey fucked him hard, finishing himself off. Afterwards, Richard kicked
Tanner and Paul off the bed, telling them they could fuck just as well on the
floor, then he ushered Mitch under the covers and sat next to him, stroking the
crying boy’s hair. “You did good, Mitchell-dear, get some rest.”
He didn’t want rest, but he wasn’t going to get what he did want, so he closed
his eyes and tried to ignore the hand on him. Maybe when he woke up he’d be in
bed at home and he’d never sneak out again.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Mitch woke to the sound of fading laughter and a door closing. For a moment, he
didn’t remember where he was. The bed was too firm and he felt vaguely sick,
like he had a hangover. He started to shift and his lower back and ass screamed
in protest. He stilled as everything came painfully back to him. Richard
Carter, the club, the drugged drink, the party. He clutched the pillow under
his hand and curled into it, burying his face in the soft fibers as his throat
closed and his mind went numb.
“Awake at last and here I was afraid I’d have to rouse you.” Richard sat next
to him and Mitch closed his eyes tighter, trying to block out the sight of the
still fully clothed man who had forced him to take drugs and suck his cock and
fuck his friends. Mitch felt his stomach heave a little, but managed to push it
down.
“Mitchell-dear?” Mitch forced his eyes open, looking up at Richard in what he
hoped was a neutral expression. In truth, he was scared shitless. “I know
you’re a little shocked by everything that’s going on, but I want you to know
that I’d never hurt one of my boys. In a few months I’ll take you back to the
club and you can go home. Until then, you should try and enjoy yourself. We’ll
order whatever you want to eat, if there’s a movie or game you want to play,
I’ll get that, too, you can even keep it when you leave. I’ll be your sugar-
daddy.” He ruffled Mitch’s hair in affection and Mitch fought not to pull away.
“But don’t even think about going to the authorities. My attorneys will make
you out to be the University Campus Slut and my friends will vouch that you
were here willingly.”
Mitch didn’t make a sound as Richard pried his fingers forcefully from the
pillow and gripped his wrists, yanking him to his feet. “Now, we’re going to
have to get you in the shower and washed up before...” His voiced trailed off
and his grip on Mitch’s wrists relaxed some. “God damnit. Come on.”
Detached, he noted that Richard didn’t sounded more concerned and worried than
angry and he looked back at the bed, noticing a good amount of blood staining
the sheets where he’d been laying. Richard let go of one of his wrists and took
his chin, forcing him to look away. “Into the bathroom.”
When the actor had been out that afternoon, Mitch had gone in the bathroom a
few times, both to use it and to toss the contents of the drawers around,
looking for anything that would help him escape. It was a good sized room with
a standing shower and a Jacuzzi. A second door led to a toilet and the vanity
had a black granite counter with two sinks set into it. The contents of the
white cabinets and drawers had been overturned onto the floor earlier that
afternoon and Richard kicked them out of the way as he dragged the still
stunned boy towards the shower.
Mitch couldn’t think properly. The evening was replaying over and over in his
head and it seemed so much worse now than it had then, not that he’d been
pleased at the time, but at least the drug had made him pliant, made it hard
for him to really fight or think. Vaguely he heard Richard turn on the tap and
felt himself being shoved forward and into a spray of water.
With a shriek, he tried to push out again, but Richard crowded him back against
a wall, not bothering to take off his own clothes, and shut the door. Mitch
tried to fight against him, but every movement hurt him and as he stood there,
soaking wet, it was so real all of a sudden. He clutched at Richard and buried
his face in the wet shirt, desperate for some kind of comfort.
Richard hesitantly put his arms around Mitch and held him awkwardly. “Hey, are
you okay?”
The realization of who he was holding onto hit him and he shoved back, taking
Richard by surprise. Without the support, however, he fell down and screamed a
little as his ass hit the floor. The water pouring into the drain was red with
his blood and before he could stop it, Mitch’s stomach heaved and he vomited
onto the tile floor.
“Shit!” Richard side stepped the mess and, fell to his knees. “Mitchell.”
A sob broke free and Mitch bit his tongue, closing his throat as the tears
started to pour down his face. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Richard,
his rapist. He didn’t want to be that weak, but there wasn’t anything he could
do to stop it. It was like a waterfall cascading down his face and as a second
sob tore from his throat, he buried his face in his hands, letting them come,
suddenly not caring that Richard was the one holding him, as long as he wasn’t
alone.
At some point, Richard turned the water off and they sat on the floor, wet and
cold in the little shower. Mitch cried so hard his chest hurt and Richard
stroking wet hair in confusion, mumbling that it was okay, asking what was
wrong, which only made it worse. Eventually the tears had run out, although
Mitch still couldn’t bring himself to move. Even the smallest shift was a
painful reminder of the evening’s events. Richard frowned down at him, “We
should get dried off.”
Mitch shook his head, and held on tighter, hoping to stall having to leave the
illusion of comfort. Richard sighed and kept stroking his hair. “Just a little
while longer, then.”
 
 
*****
 
 
“...went into hysterics, I don’t even know.”
Mitch blearily opened his eyes and squinted at the bright light to see Richard,
shoving DVD’s and games back on the shelves and talking into his cell phone in
a hushed whisper.
“No, not like the others, I’ve never seen anything... exactly... no, Paul,
would you lay off that, already?   Oh, and the sheets are absolutely ruined. Do
you think you could pick some up for me today on your way over? I don’t want to
leave him alone again just yet.”
Stiffly, Mitch sat up, unable to hold in the gasp at the sharp pain in his
rear. Richard looked over at the sound and his face went from slightly annoyed
to blank as he stared at the boy on his bed. Mitch quickly looked away,
conscious that his head, chest and throat now hurt along with the rest of him.
“Paul... Paul! I’ll call you back la.... okay, fine, just come over and don’t
forget the sheets.”
He hung up the phone and walked over, sitting at the edge of the bed. Richard
cast Mitch a winning smile, the kind reserved for the pretty girls he rescued
in all his films. “Feeling better this morning?”
Tentatively, Mitch shook his head. If anything, he felt worse. There wasn’t a
single muscle in his body that didn’t ache. Richard reached over and ruffled
his hair. “Lay back down, Paul’ll be over with pain killers in ten minutes and
I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do. Oh, do you want breakfast? Maybe some juice?”
When Mitch shook his head again, Richard shrugged and went back to what he’d
been doing. “So, you don’t do that kind of thing often, do you?”
Mitch drew his brows together, still not sure he wanted to talk, but Richard
got the message and chuckled lightheartedly. “Gang banging. Most of the boys at
Humps’ll fuck anything that walks through the door and they’ll fuck as many as
possible before they’re kicked out for the night. The way you bled.... well,
I’m just guessing you were probably a bit new to the whole scene at Humps.”
It got quiet while Mitch contemplated what he wanted to say - if he wanted to
say anything. Richard looked at the game in his hand for a second before
tossing it in the trash, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth keeping. Finally,
Mitch forced himself to speak, “I...” Richard looked back, seemingly surprised.
For a moment, Mitch considered not continuing, but he’d already started. “I’d
never.”
“Never...?” Then Richard’s eyes lit up in understanding and his eyebrows shot
up his forehead, “Never?!” Mitch shook his head, afraid to open his mouth
again. “But you’re twenty-one. How can you have... well, never had sex,
especially going to Humps. I mean, people don’t go there unless they’re looking
for a lot of quick meaningless fucking.”
Mitch shrugged and coward back under the quilts, drawing them over his naked
body protectively. He didn’t know how to explain that he was fifteen and he’d
only gone because it was his birthday and he’d just wanted to do something
stupid. Stupid, right, like getting himself abducted by a psycho and his
equally deranged friends. He just should have gotten a tattoo like Cynthia
suggested.
Richard was still staring at him in shock when someone knocked on his door. If
he was concerned about who it was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he opened it
wide and Mitch’s frown deepened as he saw it was Paul, holding a set of plastic
wrapped white sheets in one hand and a brown prescription bottle in the other.
“I took my mom’s spares, she never uses them, but you’ll have to buy me another
set so I can put them back.”
Richard kissed Paul on the mouth quickly and winked. “You’re a life saver. So,
when’s your big date?”
Paul glanced at the bed, nervously eyeing the trembling figure huddled in the
quilts. “Not till later. I told her I’d pick her up at nine.”
“Nine? Where are you taking her?”
“Restaurant, movie. I don’t know. I’m not very good at dating.”
Richard shrugged and tossed the unopened sheets on the bed before going back to
cleaning the mess off his floor. “Think you can handle him while I finish
this?”
Paul nodded and shoved the pills in his pocket before heading to the small
fridge and pulling out a can of Coke. Every time he looked at the kid, he
couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at his kid brother. Not that he
thought Mitch was anywhere near that young, but there was no way that ID was
his, so he was probably under drinking age. Maybe eighteen. Eighteen wouldn’t
be so bad. If anyone found out it would hurt Richard’s career, but it wouldn’t
destroy it.
Holding the soda up, he popped it open and took a long gulp before handing it
over to the kid. Richard’s boys were often afraid to take anything they hadn’t
seen someone else drink from first. Probably due to the fact that they’d just
been drugged and kidnapped, but either way it meant that if Paul wanted him to
take the medicine, he’d have to take it first. Holding up the bottle, he opened
it and emptied the four pills into his palm. Two were Tylenol 3 with codeine,
the other two were just over the counter Tylenol.
Taking the two regular Tylenol, he put them in his mouth and swallowed them
before holding out the remaining two pills for the boy. “Tylenol 3, you know
what that is?”
Apparently he did, or maybe he just didn’t care, because he took it from Paul
and downed them without further hesitation. Paul looked around the room at the
clothes strewn on the floor near the closet. “Hey, Richard, you got something I
can give the kid to wear?”
Richard shrugged and reached over, combing through the clothes on the floor
next to him until he came up with a t-shirt, “Here, and there’s a pair of sweat
pants on the top she... well, probably on the floor, actually.”
Paul couldn’t help laughing at the helpless dismay on Richard’s face over the
disorganization of his room. Ever since they’d been little kids, Richard had
been positively anal about keeping his things organized. He always kept his
clothes hung on hangers or folded neatly on the top shelves of his closet. Of
all the boys Richard had brought home, Mitch had done the most damage by far.
Even Greg, the German tourist with a violent temper, hadn’t been this bad.
Rummaging through the pants on the floor just inside the closet, he found a
pair of brown sweats and held them up, “Got them.” Richard had grown out of
them years ago, but he usually kept a few articles of his outgrown clothes
around just in case.
Mitch took them eagerly, pulling them on under the covers and then pulled the
quilt tightly back over himself. Paul sat down, looking at him sideways.
“Cold?” The kid shook his head, but didn’t look over. “Want to watch the
something?” There was a brief moment of hesitation and then a shrug.
Paul took that as yes. “Richard, hand me the remote. You know, while you’re
down there.” Richard grunted and tossed it over, too busy checking one of his
discs for scratches to really care. “What should we watch?”
He flipped it on, watching the kid sitting next to him more than the
television. Mitch’s face suddenly went sheet white and his knuckles tightened
on the quilt. Paul looked over and felt the blood drain from his own face as he
fumbled with the volume.
“...personal friends of this show for...”
Richard still wasn’t watching and Paul quickly hit the reverse button on the
Tivo controller and let it rewind. “Richard.”
“Paul, I’m busy. I think he’s ruined Cruel Intentions.”
“Richard!”
“What?! I love that movie.”
He hit the play button and Richard looked over. “Why am I watching something
about an old lady’s cat?”
Paul ignored the urge to hit his friend in the back of the head as the segment
ended and went back to the news crew in the studio. “In other news, fifteen-
year-old Mitchell Dearing went missing two days ago.”
Richard’s jaw dropped as they flashed a picture of Mitch in jeans a grey t-
shirt, smiling at the camera with large, trusting eyes.
“Mitchell lived in the Temple City, just outside of Los Angeles with his
parents and older brother.” His neighborhood came on screen, and the camera
looked around at all the little houses before focusing in on his parent’s home,
with its neatly trimmed yard. “Today would have been his fifteenth birthday.
However, yesterday morning, his parents woke up to find his room empty and the
window open.”
It moved to two adults standing in the front yard. A large man that was most
likely Mitch’s father had an arm around a smallish woman while she spoke to the
camera, visibly shaking with the effort not to cry. “We went to bed at eight
and I got up at five, as usual. I didn’t see or hear anything suspicious, but
when I went to get him up at six, he wasn’t in his room. I called his friends,
but they... they haven’t heard from him. We just want to know that he’s okay.”
The camera cut off to a girl with bleach blond hair and faded blue highlights,
standing outside of a red brick school. “We talked the other day and he said
something about us going into town on the weekend to celebrate his birthday. He
wanted to do something stupid, something that he’d regret later...” she
sniffed, “I told him to get a tattoo of a butterfly on his ankle and he thought
it sounded silly, but...” tears started falling down her face and her eyes
shifted away from the camera for a moment. Another boy came on screen and
wrapped his arms around her, pulling her away from the media.
They went back to the parents and Paul was struck with a vague sense of deja-
vu. The father stood up, “We’ll be cooperating fully with the Temple City
police. I have faith that my men can bring my son home safely.”
It went back to the reporter, a woman with tightly clipped blonde hair and a
severe black suit, who seemed intent on shuffling papers around on her desk
while she spoke. “The police have asked that anyone with information please
call this number.” The picture of him came up on the corner of the screen, a
phone number popped up bellow the anchor, who looked at the man sitting next to
her. “Chief Dearing and his family have, of course, been very close, personal
friends of this show for many years and we also will be cooperating in the
search for their son.”
The man nodded, looking at the camera. “Again, here’s the number to call if you
have any information. We’ll be covering the story until Mitch has been found
and, if you’re watching, Mitch, hang in there. We’ll have you’re presents
waiting when you get home.”
Beside him, he felt Mitch jerk a little, giving a muffled noise that sounded
like something between a laugh and a cry. Paul was still staring at the screen
when he saw Richard fly past him, backhanding Mitchell into the wall,
“Motherfucker, what were you thinking?!”
Paul grabbed Richard around the shoulders as he drew back for another blow,
“Stop it!” Richard yanked free and Mitch managed to cover his head just in time
to avoid being punched in the ear. “Richard!” He pulled him back and turned him
around, shoving his friend towards the door. “Run it off!”
“Fuck that, I’m going to kill the little shit.” Paul pushed Richard back when
he advanced again and stood his ground, glaring back sternly. Finally, Richard
gave a frustrated grunt and turned around, storming out the door and slamming
it behind him.
Paul waited for several minutes, until he’d heard the footsteps descend the
stairs outside, before finally turning back to the boy on the bed. Mitch was
huddled in a silent ball, as if waiting for Paul to turn on him next.
With a deep breath, he went to the bed and pulled the boy up, ignoring the
protests. “Come on, now, let’s have a look.”
Finally, he managed to get the kid sitting upright and pushed Mitch’s bangs out
of his face. His nose was bleeding, but not broken. Thank god. Richard had done
much worse than this with one blow and the last thing they needed was to have
to call a doctor. In fact, they couldn’t afford to do that at all. Not now.
“It’s not bad. Could be worse.”
Mitch touched it tentatively and pulled his hand away, looking at the blood.
“It hurts.”
“It’ll hurt less when the codeine kicks in.” He went into the bathroom, wet a
rag and came back, softly dabbing the blood away from the swollen nose. “You
know, I gathered you weren’t twenty-one, but I’d never thought you were as
young as that. Barely fifteen. Oh, and you just had to be a police Chief’s son,
didn’t you? Friends with the broadcaster of a news program on top of that.”
Mitch shook his head, “I didn’t mean to... my grandma’d already given me my
birthday money, so I thought...”
He trailed off, apparently unable to continue and Paul sat back, staring at the
paused television thoughtfully. “You thought it couldn’t hurt anything. God,
what are we going to do? You know, usually Richard only keeps his boys for a
few months, then lets them go with a few threats - he’s rich, he has the best
attorneys and there are five of us willing to vouch for him, that kind of
thing.”
“Five?”
Paul nodded, “You haven’t met Tanner’s boyfriend, Jessie. He’s out of town on
business.” With an air of finality, Paul took out a cigarettes and lit it.
“Richard’s going to kill me. I’m supposed to have quit these things.”
“Can I have one?”
He looked at the meek boy next to him in shock. “No, I’m not giving smokes to a
fifteen-year-old.”
The boy’s cheeks went red. “If you don’t mind, it’s my birthday today and I was
just gang banged by five men last night, one of which was you, and I want a
fucking cigarette!”
For a moment, Paul couldn’t think of anything to say. Kid was right. He’d
fucked him the night before, giving him a cigarette really couldn’t hurt
anything. “All right, fine, just... don’t make a habit of it.”
The outburst was unexpected but understandable. Paul vaguely remembered being
fifteen, a freshman in high school with Richard; he’d been a bit of a volatile
mess himself at times. Besides, Mitch was probably still in shock, most
fifteen-years-olds didn’t go around having sex with five men in one night,
hell, most fifteen-years-old didn’t go around having sex at all. The gravity of
that thought hit him about the same time that Mitch started hacking on the
cigarette smoke he’d just inhaled.
Patting Mitch’s back, he chuckled, trying to keep the nervousness out of his
voice. He couldn’t ask, it was too personal a question, but somehow he thought
he knew. The way the boy had reacted to being touched in the club, the way he’d
fought the affects of the drug, pulling away from hands and mouths that would
have soothed the aching need. Mitchell Dearing had most likely been a virgin
and he’d had that violently taken away from him but five men too doped out of
their minds to care what he had to say about it. He cringed as an image of
Mickey and Louis, stuffing both their cocks in the child’s ass came to him. Oh,
bloody hell, they’d really messed up this time.
“Try not to inhale so much all at once.” Mitch nodded, seeming much more
subdued all of a sudden, though his stiff posture indicated that he still
didn’t want to be touched. Standing up, Paul stretched and pulled his keys out
of his pocket, flipping through them until he found Richard’s spare. “I’m going
to go talk to Richard. Watch whatever and smoke your cigarette, try not to burn
anything.”
Mitch’s only response was to take another puff and stare at the anchor man
still on the screen. Damnit. Richard was sitting at the foot of the steps, hair
plastered to the back of his head with sweat. Good, that meant he’d actually
gone running. It was a technique that a therapist had suggested to them once
when they were in school. Richard had always been going into rages and the
school counselor had advised him that next time he got angry he should ‘run it
off.’ Really, it was a fancy way of saying he should step back and think about
it. Sometimes Richard actually ran, sometimes he didn’t, but he always calmed
down much faster when he did.
Paul sat next to him, ignoring how cramped the space was. “So, what do you
think?”
Richard looked over and eyed the cigarette in Paul’s hand with distaste. “I
thought we agreed you’d cut that out.”
“I just found out I fucked a fifteen-year-old last night while I was high on
god-knows what. I’d say a cigarette’s in order.” Richard chuckled, which was a
good sign, because it meant he’d calmed down enough to think. “Seriously,
Richard, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking...” Richard kicked a step with his heal. “That I should have
listened to you in the first place.”
“You were drunk and high, although that’s really not going to work in front of
the judge, I suppose. Look, so far they don’t know anything. I say we let the
kid go, send him home. I doubt he’ll tell anyone anything. Besides, there are
bound to be witnesses that put him in the gay district last night and I don’t
think he’ll want his parents knowing he was clubbing at Humps. His father’s the
Chief of Police, I’m sure he knows what kind of reputation that place has.”
Richard took the half-finished cigarette from Paul’s hand and ground it under
his shoe. “No, I’m not taking that chance. What if he does tell?”
“Then we let your attorneys work their magic, Richard. Considering where we
picked him up and the fact that he had a fake ID on him, I doubt you’ll do more
than a couple of months. No one’ll believe the kid was,” he looked around and
lowered his voice, “raped. Especially with the four of us behind you. We’ll say
he begged for it, that he wanted the drugs. It’s suspicious enough that he
snuck out of his parent’s house. We can make it work.”
“No.” Richard stood and looked up at the door. “Go home, Paul, take a nap, get
ready for your date tonight.”
“Don’t hurt him, Richard. He’s fifteen.”
Richard flashed him one of his winning smiles. “I never hurt my boys, Paul. You
know that.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia sat nervously on the couch, her legs folded under her, and played with
the ripped hem of her jeans.
When Mrs. Dearing had called her yesterday morning, asking about Mitch, she
really hadn’t been all that concerned. While his parents may not have known
about it, Mitch was prone to going out at night and sneaking back in just
before his mother came to wake him up and Cynthia had simply assumed that he’d
finally managed to stay out just a few minutes too long. She was glad,
actually, maybe he’d stop doing it if his parents caught him. If there was one
thing the Dearings were, it was strict and they weren’t likely to put up with
Mitch going out clubbing at fifteen, especially without supervision.
When Mitch hadn’t shown up at school either, she’d been a little worried, but
knew that he had probably made it home and was being yelled at by his parents.
She could just see him sitting in the kitchen in his ‘clubbing gear,’ arms
crossed stubbornly over his chest, determined not to listen to what they had to
say. The only thing that bothered her was that Chief Dearing would have
insisted Mitch go to school, no matter how angry they were with him, or how
tired he was, especially if he was tired from being up all night after having
snuck out. But then, of course, Mitch usually told her when he was planning to
sneak out and he hadn’t said anything.
As soon as school let out, she’d gone to a payphone and called his house,
determined to put her fears to rest. Instead, she’d had them confirmed. Mitch
hadn’t come home yet and his mother said the window was open in his room. Mitch
never left the window open. Since then, it had been absolute pandemonium at the
Dearing’s home and Cynthia had refused to leave except to attend school and
only that because Chief Dearing had kicked her out for those seven agonizing
hours. She insisted on running errands, even if they were as simple as walking
to the grocery store or picking up the dry cleaning, anything so that she could
be there when Mitch came home.
Having just gotten back with food for the family and some of the officers,
there was nothing to do at the moment and she had sat down in the living, not
hungry, but unsure what to say or do. She still hadn’t said anything about the
clubs, because it didn’t seem likely that was where he had gone, especially
considering the window was open and he hadn’t said anything to her. Besides, it
really wasn’t her secret to tell, because if she told them that she would have
to tell them he was gay and his parents still didn’t know.
A knock at the door jarred her from her thoughts and she leapt up, calling,
“I’ll get it!”
Before she could reach it, however, it opened and Ron Kipatrick stepped inside,
still wearing the suit he’d had on when he did the news. “Hey, Cyn, where’s
Henry?”
Cynthia motioned back towards the kitchen, not that it mattered, because Chief
Dearing had already come around the corner. “Ron, it’s really good of you to
come by. I saw the news this morning, you did great.”
Another officer, one Cynthia didn’t recognize, came running through the living
room and out the door, holding his ringing cell phone like it was a ticking
bomb. Ron just managed to sidestep him and he laughed half heartedly. “It’s
like a zoo in here.”
Chief Dearing forced a smile. “I know. Amy’s having a fit. We just got the
carpets replaced and there’s a ketchup stain in the dining room already.”
Ron had been a close friend of the family for as long as Cynthia had known
them, which was most of her life, ever since she’d met Mitch in primary school.
He’d only started his job as an anchor man a year ago, but his close ties to
the Dearings had helped. It meant he had inside information, not that he ever
let anything leak that would harm a case, he respected his friends too much to
do that to them.
As far Cynthia was concerned, the Dearing family and their friends were some of
the best people she had ever known. Chief Dearing’s job made decent money and
Mrs. Dearing worked as a teacher to help make ends meet. They had scrimped and
saved to buy a home in a moderately nice neighborhood, but it meant sending
Mitch and his brother to public school, which was where she had met them.
For Cynthia, this was her home away from home. Her parents were divorced and
she was forever flipping between her mother, who worked as an Administrator for
a local Insurance Company and was about as nurturing as a calculator, and her
father, who lived in a very small, expensive apartment in Los Angeles. She
wasn’t sure what her father did, but he made a lot of money doing it and came
home at all hours of the night. To be honest, she wouldn’t have been surprised
if he were to get arrested, not that she would tell her mom about any of it, or
she’d never be allowed to go to Los Angeles at all. At the Dearing’s she had a
mother figure she could talk to about things, who actually listened, and a
father figure who wasn’t likely to end up in jail. She also had a stable home
and somewhere she could go to get real meals, ones that weren’t out of the
microwave.
She went back to the couch and half listened to Ron and Chief Dearing talk
about the case. They had found a footprint outside of Mitch’s bedroom, but it
looked like it was his. There didn’t appear to be any clothes missing. Mitch’s
bag was sitting next to the door, his homework hadn’t even been touched. There
weren’t any signs that anything had been tampered with, the latch on Mitch’s
window wasn’t broken. No ransom note or call as of yet. They hoped it wasn’t a
vengeance thing, but with Chief Dearing’s job, it was a possibility they
couldn’t ignore.
Cynthia frowned at her socks. It sounded like he’d just gone out. Maybe he had
left. It wasn’t like him to be spontaneous, but maybe... maybe he’d opened the
window, snuck out and someone had grabbed him before he could close it? The
front door opened again and the officer who had stepped out came in, closing
his phone with a confused expression on his face. “Henry, I need to talk to you
outside.”
They stepped out and Cynthia considering putting her ear to the door, but Ron
was still there. He sat next to her and gave her the one raised eyebrow look.
“So, what haven’t you told them?” She turned to him sharply, too sharply,
because he nodded. “Right. Is it important?”
Cynthia bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t think so, I... well, I hope
not.” Because if Mitch really had snuck out, there was no telling what had
happened to him, or who to suspect. Cynthia had never gone with him, so she
didn’t know where he went, or who he hung out with.
The door opened again, forcefully this time and Chief Dearing immediately came
up to her, his shoulders squared and his face set in the kind of calm that she
associated with his being really angry. “Cynthia, the night before last Mitch
was seen in the clubbing district of Los Angeles, do you know anything about
this?”
Ron’s eyes widened and he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Easy, Henry,
she’s fourteen.”
“And my son is fifteen! He had no business going into Humps.” Ron’s eyes went
wide at the mention of the ill-reputed gay bar that housed some of the seediest
of Los Angeles’ nightlife.
The commotion had caught the attention of Mrs. Dearing and Frank, who came in,
looking at Chief Dearing for any sign of what was going on. Cynthia felt her
chest tighten and her lip tremble, but she just managed to keep herself from
crying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was... he said he snuck out sometimes, but
he never said where he went.”
Mrs. Dearing put down her dishtowel and pushed her angry husband away, sitting
next to the girl. “What’s going on, Cynthia?”
“Mitch sometimes snuck out and went to the clubs in Los Angeles.” Her voice was
so soft and meek it didn’t even sound like her.
Mrs. Dearing was visibly upset by the news, but not in the same way as Chief
Dearing, who was red in the neck. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
She felt tears sliding down her checks and hastily wiped them away. “He always
tells me when he’s going out! He says that way someone would know where he was,
and he always shuts the window behind him, he told me he did that because he
didn’t want a burglar getting in while he was gone. He didn’t say anything to
me and you said the window was open, I didn’t think he could have possibly gone
out... and he didn’t want you to know...”
“Know what, dear?”
Chief Dearing answered for her, “That he’s gay.”
The officer stepped forward, holding out a little pad of paper for Mrs. Dearing
to see, “Last night the bouncer at Humps remembers letting him in. The man
remembers because he said the kid looked so young he must have spent a good
five minutes trying to figure out whether the ID was fake. He said the name on
it was Frank Dearing”
Frank paled, “My license went missing three months ago.”
The officer nodded, “Yeah, he must have taken it. He’s been using it to get
himself into clubs.”
Cynthia put her head in her hands and tried to stop herself from crying. She
hadn’t thought it could possible be that, but it was. What had he been
thinking? Why hadn’t she said something sooner.
Mrs. Dearing pulled her into her lap and Cynthia felt herself crying harder,
thankful that the woman wasn’t mad at her. “It’s okay, Cynthia.”
“I... I’m sorry I didn’t... didn’t tell you. He just... he didn’t want you to
know and...”
Mrs. Dearing sighed, “It’s all right, but we need you tell us everything now,
okay.”
She nodded and sat up, wiping her nose with the back of her sweater. She’d tell
them everything she knew, even if it wasn’t much, and hopefully they’d find
Mitch.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Of the two, Mitch preferred Paul. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Paul
had tried to get him to go away that night at the club, or because Paul didn’t
want to take the drugs during the party, but either way, he felt like he could
relax around Paul, he could let his guard down. There was no relaxing when
Richard was around.
That afternoon Richard had come back upstairs and taken the cigarette away from
Mitch, who had wanted to pout about it, but had been too busy nursing his
bleeding lip because Richard had backhanded him again, this time for taking up
such a disgusting habit. At least the codeine had already hit and he couldn’t
really feel it. Richard had gotten on the computer for a while, and Mitch had
tried to watch television, but he wanted to watch the news to see if they said
anything else and Richard made him change the channel, threatening to put child
locks on every station if he didn’t do it.
So, instead of the news, he watched Cartoon Network, trying to lose himself in
the dumbed down humor of Ed, Edd, and Eddie. Richard didn’t seem to like that,
either, but he didn’t make him change it, so Mitch curled up on the bed and
tried to ignore his growling stomach. Two episodes later and the Grim Adventure
of Billy and Mandy came on. Richard closed his lap top and leaned back, staring
at the screen critically. “How can you watch this shit?”
Mitch shrugged. “It’s funny.”
“I haven’t heard you laugh once.”
“I’m not really in the mood to laugh. It’s still funny, though.”
Richard raised an eyebrow and came over, sitting on the bed next to him. Mitch
made himself sit still as the actor checked his forehead. “You’re not running a
fever.” Mitch’s stomach let out a particularly loud growled and he pulled his
knees up to his chest. Richard’s face lit up knowingly. “Oh, that’s it. You
didn’t eat anything yesterday, did you?”
Hesitantly, Mitch shook his head.
“What you do want to eat?”
Mitch shrugged. He wasn’t really hungry. In fact, he felt as if he were going
to be sick.
“Hm, how about pizza? You eat meat?”
“I...” He bit his lip, realizing that the thought of pizza really wasn’t as
unappealing as he had first thought it was. His parents rarely ordered out. “I
kind of like Canadian bacon and pineapple.”
“Done!”
Richard grabbed his cell phone off the desk and stepped out the door to order
the pizza. Mitch stood up and went to the computer, lifting the lid
experimentally. He hadn’t really expected it to be on, but he’d hoped.
Unfortunately, Richard was too careful. He’d logged off while Mitch wasn’t
paying attention. Getting up, the boy went back to the bed and laid down again,
making sure that he was in the same place, and then drew his knees back up to
his chest. He’d just have to bide his time is all. Richard wasn’t perfect, he’d
make a mistake.
The codeine was making him light headed and he blinked at the screen, trying to
stay awake. Richard came back in and set the phone down, eyeing him on the bed
thoughtfully. “You know, I don’t think you had a proper bath yesterday. We’ve
got maybe twenty minutes, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Despite his lethargy, or more likely because of it, he didn’t fight Richard and
let him lead him into the bathroom, undress them both and then stood by
complacently while Richard started the shower. The water felt weird, because he
was having trouble feeling it properly. He knew it was hot, but he wasn’t
really sure if it was too hot and he didn’t really care. Richard lathered him
with his hands and as much as Mitch didn’t want him to touch him, he was too
tired to pull away, even when one of the soapy fingers slid between his ass
cheeks, massaging and then pushing into the abused entrance.
It probably stung, but Mitch only felt the mild discomfort of pressure and he
keened a little, hoping that would deter the man from touching him more than he
had to. The finger moved away and Richard stood up and gripped his hips,
forcing him to turn around. Mitch put his head against the cool tile, forcing
back tears as the soft pressure he’d felt earlier became the more intense
pressure and then the stinging pain of a cock pushing into him. Richard hadn’t
bothered to fuck him the night before, seemingly content with being sucked off,
and Mitch was grateful to Paul for the codeine, because if it hurt this much
with drugs, Mitch didn’t want to even imagine what it was like without them.
Richard put his hand over Mitch’s where they were clenched against the tile and
slowly fucked him, moaning in an obscene way that reminded Mitch of the few sex
scenes Richard had done with girls in his movies. Those were always about love,
or intense pleasure and Mitch didn’t want to think that this was about anything
other than someone using him to get off, but he couldn’t help feeling ashamed
when his cock started to react.
Logically, he knew what it was. Cynthia had always been a wealth of knowledge
on sex, because her father kept books on it sitting around his apartment; books
on how men and women had sex, books on how women have sex with other women, and
even a few on men having sex with men. Mitch had jokingly said the man was
obsessed, but they had talked about all the things Cynthia read anyway, because
it made them feel more adult to know those things. So, he knew that his body
was reacting to pressure being applied to his prostate. He knew that was what
Paul had done the night before and even though he couldn’t really feel it now,
he knew that was what Richard was doing, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Especially when Richard wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled him off. A
few quick thrusts and Richard stilled, emptying himself inside Mitch, grunting
and moaning lewdly.
Afterwards, he was careful to clean Mitch, inside and out, touching him with
soft, tentative hands like he was washing a lover or a willing partner. Mitch
didn’t care. He wanted his pizza and he wanted to go to sleep so that he could
forget everything, even if only for a few short hours.
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch woke the next morning to find himself alone of the bed with a note in
front of him and two pills. He looked at the pills and recognized them as more
Tylenol 3, which was good, because the pain in his ass was so intense he felt
lightheaded. Taking the pills, he swallowed them dry and then picked up the
note, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes so he could read it.
 
Mitch,
I have a meeting with my manager. Take the medicine and have a bath, Paul will
be by later to look in on you.
Richard
 
He sighed and put it back down, burying his head in the pillow while he waited
for the pills to kick in. Richard had fucked him again before going to bed,
holding Mitch’s face in the pillow to muffle his screaming, because the
medicine was wearing off and he could feel every tug and tear inside his over
sensitive ass. He knew he’d bled on the sheets again, had known when he’d been
going to sleep and he could feel the fluid leaking down his thighs.
When the first feelings of numbness began to spread, he pushed himself up and
fought a wave of nausea until he was in front of the toilet. He’d just managed
to choke up the last of his dinner and had fallen limply to the floor when he
heard a key turn in the lock. Numbly, Mitch reached behind himself and flushed
the toilet, letting the foul smell drain away as Paul came through the door. If
he’d had the energy he would have rushed him and tried to make it out the door,
but his legs were too weak, he was surprised he’d made it to the bathroom
before collapsing. Besides, Paul was like Richard in that he was far too strong
for Mitch to muscle his way past.
He must have made some kind of noise, because Paul looked over sharply and let
out a curse word when he saw him, sitting on the bathroom floor. He rushed over
and Mitch tried to push himself away, but his feet just slipped on the tile.
Paul knelt down and looked at him, as if trying to find somewhere to touch him,
or taking a catalogue of his body. Finally, he reached a hand out and touched
Mitch’s cheek, where the two bruises from the previous day had nearly melded
into one. “He hit you again, didn’t he?”
“For smoking.” It was easier to talk to Paul. Paul exuded a calm concern and
the more time he spent with him, the less he thought of Paul as insane as
opposed to maybe just a little disturbed or confused.
Paul cringed, “We’ll have to keep that quiet from now on then, won’t we?”
Mitch started to smile, but his face hurt too much and it came out as more a
lopsided grimace. “I’m supposed to have a bath.”
“Did you get the pills?”
He nodded and stuck his out tongue flat, as if that proved something. Paul
grinned, “Okay, then, why don’t I draw some bath water and...” He trailed off,
looking down and Mitch followed his gaze to the smear of blood on the white
tile under his ass.
“I’m sorry.” Tile didn’t stain, did it?
Paul looked at him sharply, all traced of humor, forced or otherwise, gone.
Without saying anything, he stood up and pulled out his cell phone, dialing his
home number. He glanced over at the boy on the floor, waxen and shaking and
appearing for all the world as if he didn’t know it. Oh, bloody hell, Richard
had gone too far this time. He was just thankful that his father was a doctor
or they’d all be screwed.
“Gerring residence.”
“Father!” He took a breath, forcing himself to sound calm and stepped out of
the bathroom in case Mitch got it in his head to scream. Not that he thought
the kid was in any shape to try anything, but it was better to be safe. “The
guys went out to the clubs the other night and Richard brought home a trick.”
“You went with him, didn’t you?” Paul cringed, but didn’t respond. “I’ve told
you before, I don’t like you hanging out with Richard. I don’t approve of the
kinds of things he does. Every since primary school he has dragged you into...”
“I know, dad, I know. He’s a horrible influence, but I am twenty-five.” His
father sighed and Paul took the moment of silence to re-gear the conversation,
“Look, I didn’t call you to get yelled at. Richard brought home a trick and
they got pretty rough last night. As in, the guy’s bleeding.”
There was a pause on the other end and Paul bit his lip, hoping his father
wouldn’t ask to see Mitch for an evaluation. “How badly?”
Paul glanced back in the restroom and saw Mitch still sitting on the floor
where he’d left him. He’d stopped shaking, which was a good sign, “He’s not
gushing or anything, but he’s pale and he threw up.”
“Give him some of your Tylenol and get some food into him. A warm bath couldn’t
hurt, either. I’ll bring home some pills tonight to stimulate blood production,
but no more roughhousing for a few days at least and, Paul?”
“Yes?”
“Next time they go out, you come home. One of these days, he’s going to do
something that’ll land you all in jail.”
Paul nodded, “Sure thing, thanks.”
He hung up the phone and set it on the desk, rubbing his temple for a few
minutes. He’d have to yell at Richard later, right now he needed to get Mitch
in the bath and get him scrubbed off, then see about filching some food from
the main house. When he came back in the bathroom, the kid was still sitting on
the floor, but with his head resting against the cool porcelain lid of the
toilet. Mitch didn’t put up any kind of a fight over the bath. He let Paul help
him in and then set about scrubbing himself with unsteady hands. As much as
Paul wanted to just do it himself, he got the feeling that Mitch wouldn’t
appreciate anyone touching him more than necessary. So instead, he sat back on
the toilet seat and tried to think about what he was going to do.
He loved Richard like a brother, maybe more, but he hated what Richard did
sometimes. Like the stupid drugs. Paul didn’t mind drinking, but he didn’t like
doing drugs because they clouded his judgment and made him do stupid things,
like fucking a  fifteen-year-old. Well, that and they made him a lot less wary
of Tanner.
Tanner’d had a crush on Paul since he joined them in grade school, following
him around and trying to impress him with stupid stunts. Problem was that even
back then Tanner was vicious. Impressing Paul was putting thumb tacks on the
professor’s chair when she gave Paul a bad grade, or finding a dead animal.
Paul had taken an instant dislike to the psychotic boy that insisted on sitting
next to him in class, but Richard hadn’t. Richard had liked Tanner, for
whatever reason, and eventually Paul had given in, but then, he’d always given
in where Richard was concerned.
He took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, trying to ignore the sound of
sloshing water to his right and the fact that his hand was shaking. He took a
deep breath of nicotine and stared at the tile, still caught up in reminiscing
while Mitch lathered his hair, using his nails to scratch the soap into his
scalp.
Tanner had been sent back to England just before the start of freshman year -
he’d been caught killing a squirrel by one of his nurse maids and after that,
no one would watch him, so his parents were forced to send him to live with
relatives overseas - and hadn’t returned until after they had graduated. Paul
had been glad, it was just him and Richard again and if Richard had changed, he
didn’t notice it. Sometime between then and when Tanner reappeared into their
lives, Paul realized he liked Richard. He didn’t like any of the other boys, in
fact, he had a great fondness for breasts overall, but Richard wasn’t like
anyone Paul had ever known. For Richard, the rules never applied, he always got
what he wanted, and he got away with everything he did without so much as a
scratch on him.
Junior year, Richard announced he was going to be an actor. Three months later
he had a part in a stage drama. It had been a small role, but it was a starting
point for him and soon he was getting offers from agents for representation and
offers for other, bigger parts in high budget movies. For Richard, nothing was
unattainable and no matter where he went, he always dragged Paul with him. He
forced Paul into acting with him, sometimes smaller parts, sometimes as an
extra, and once a leading roll as a sidekick. Paul had always been in Richard’s
shadow, always doing what Richard wanted, but he’d always been fine with that.
He loved Richard, after all, so it was okay.
When Tanner had come back, Paul had hoped that Richard wouldn’t want to hang
out with him, but when it was apparent that he did, Paul hoped that Tanner’s
crush on him had at the least abated. It hadn’t, if anything it had gotten
stronger. Only now, Richard and Tanner wanted to experiment with drugs and
Richard wanted Paul to do them too. If it had been anyone else asking him, Paul
would have said no, but it was Richard, with his dazzling blue eyes and heart
stopping grin and that one raised eyebrow that made it seem like he was
begging.
Paul remembered the night so vividly, sitting on the floor in Richard room,
when it was still in his parent’s house, trying to ignore the colors that were
floating in front of his face. Tanner had started kissing his throat and he’d
wanted to tell him to stop, but Richard had smiled at him and started rubbing
himself through his pants and Paul couldn’t manage anything other than staring,
not even when Tanner had started to suck him off.
He’d regretted it later, of course, but that hadn’t changed the fact that
Tanner had finally gotten what he wanted and that Richard had liked watching
it. There had been a time when they were doing one drug or another more than
once a week and Paul had been afraid that they would fall into addiction or,
worse, get caught. Instead, Richard found something better than drugs. He found
his boys.
“I’m done.”
Paul nearly choked on the cigarette smoke, gasping as the unexpected voice
interrupted his thoughts. Mitch was still sitting in the water, watching Paul
apprehensively. The man had been sitting with a glazed expression for the past
twenty minutes. He wondered if maybe it didn’t have to do with all the
narcotics he’d done. Maybe he’d been having a flashback of something. His
father had said that sometimes happened with people who did LSD.
After a moment, Paul started, as if suddenly realizing something and stood up,
getting a towel out from under the sink and tossing it to Mitch, who caught it
before it hit the water. As he stood up, wrapping it around himself, he cringed
at the pale red tint of the water. He didn’t think he was still bleeding that
badly, but apparently, it had been enough. Paul, seemed to notice as well.
“Kid, are you still bleeding from the party?”
Mitch wanted to say ‘yes,’ maybe Paul would take him to a hospital and he’d
have half a chance of getting home, but he didn’t have it in him to lie and the
answer, “No,” had slipped past his lips before he’d realized it.
Paul looked at him quizzically, “Why are you bleeding then?”   Mitch blushed
and understanding dawned on Paul’s face just before anger swept it away. “He
fucked you again, didn’t he?”
Mitch nodded and Paul seethed, “How many times?”
With a shaking hand, Mitch held up two fingers and Paul cursed heavily,
dropping his grip on Mitch’s shoulders and storming out into the room. For a
second, Mitch thought Paul was angry at him and, why not, they were all insane
anyway? Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had been asking for it.
“Richard, where the hell are you?”
Mitch stepped into the room and saw Paul standing next to the bed, his back to
the bathroom, holding his cell phone.
“The kid’s bleeding again, Richard. Yes, he ruined the sheets, but that is not
why I’m calling you. Richard, there are more important things than sheets,
you’re a fucking millionaire living on your parent’s estate, you can afford new
sheets! This is about you keeping your fucking cock in your pants for five
fucking minutes!” Mitch backed up a step, shocked. “You do damned well know
what I mean. Two times, Richard? He’s fifteen-years-old and you can’t keep your
fucking hands off him long enough to...?”
There was a long pause and Paul sighed. “No, Richard. No. I already did that,
he said he’d give me something tonight, but you... Don’t start with me, I am
fucking pissed right now and you can... A week, at least, but...” The tension
in Paul’s shoulder’s drained and he leaned forward, resting his head against
the wall. “You promise, Richard? I still think you should take him home. No. In
the end it is your decision, but he’s fift... I know I keep saying that, but
it’s kind of an important point. Fine, if you promise and no more drugs until
then. Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you when you get back.”
Mitch felt his heart hammering in his chest. Paul wanted Richard to take him
home. “Paul?”
Paul’s head jerked around and he shut his mouth quickly, unsure what to say
anymore. It hadn’t sounded like Richard had agreed, but the fact that Paul
didn’t want to keep him there... well, it was something and that was more than
Mitch had thought he’d had up until then.
For a moment, Paul couldn’t think what to say either. Mitch’s eyes were wide
and bright and shining in the light that was pouring in from the window. There
was hope there and Paul couldn’t let it fester for too long. Richard wasn’t
going to let Mitch go until he was ready, he’d made that abundantly clear.
Giving the boy a tired smile, he held up the phone in surrender. “And that, my
dear Mitch, is how Richard Carter gets away with murder.”
The blood drained from the boy’s face, his eyes going wider and he swayed on
his feet. Paul realized what he’d said and rushed over, apologizing frantically
as he helped Mitch onto the bed. “No, no, no, not like that. Come on, don’t
faint.” Mitch was practically hyperventilating. “Come on, breathe. It was a
figure of speech. I didn’t mean it like that. Richard’s never killed any of his
boys. I promise.” Paul felt the guilty voice in his head toning in that Richard
had never hurt any of them before either. Duncan, Greg, Andrew, none of them
had had so much as a scratch that wasn’t self inflicted and Mitch... he fought
not to touch the split lip and bruised cheek.
“Please believe me?” Mitch looked at him finally, his pale hazel eyes full of
hope. That was good, it meant he wanted to believe it.   “There you go.”
Paul forced a smile on his face. “The longest he’s kept anyone is three months,
usually it’s less. You can handle three months, right?” Mitch sobbed a little,
but nodded and sniffed, trying to gather himself. The color still hadn’t
returned to his face, but he didn’t look like he was going to fold over any
second. “I know it sounds like a long time, but it really isn’t. It’ll be over
before you know it. Think of it as an early summer break, yeah?”
After several more shaky sobs, the boy appeared to get himself under control,
though he refused to look up again. Paul heard him mumble something and bent
forward, “Say again?”
“How many?”
“Oh.” He sat back and thought, “Uh... seven, well, you’re eight. It’s about one
a year, two this year, though.” He refrained from saying that he thought it was
getting worse, because he knew it was, but that wasn’t going to help Mitch any.
What would help him was reassurance that everything was going to be okay. The
calmer he was the better Richard could handle him, because Richard, who had
never been a very hormonal child, would not be able to handle a hysterical
fifteen-year-old boy who thought he was facing his murderer every day.
Mitch bit his lip, head down, “He let them all go?”
He breathing was almost normal now, thank god. “Yes, every single one. Duncan
McGowan, he was a twenty-one year old art major, Richard was only twenty, but
Duncan was much smaller. He let him go after only two months. Next was a German
tourist named Greg, he kept him for nearly three months, let him cancel his
plane tickets online and write a letter to his parents to say he was staying
longer, so it wouldn’t look suspicious. But after that, he flew him home.”
Mitch took a shaky breath. “Do you think he’d let me write a letter?”
Paul smirked. He was a smart kid, to have enough sense about him to think of
that when he was still just getting over his hysterics. “Now, how would that
look? ‘Dear Mom and Dad, I’ve shacked up with a guy, so don’t bother looking
for me.’ You’re fifteen, they’ll double their efforts.” Mitch’s shoulder’s rose
stiffly. “You’re not going anywhere for the next few months, so you might as
well make the best of it.”
Mitch pushed away as Paul sat on the bed next to him and finally looked up,
sending seething glares at the other man, “The best of it? I’ve been kidnapped
by a man who likes to throw rape parties for all his friends with me as the
goddamned center piece. Explain the bright side. I’m just dying to hear it.”
Paul couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the unintentional pun and Mitch’s face
flushed in anger. “Look, don’t get mad at me, okay? Richard said he’d lay off
you for a week or more, whatever it took to let you heal up. He buys things for
his boys. Give it a day or two and he’ll plug you in and let you buy anything
you want, movies, games, clothes. Anything.”
“So, I’m his unwilling rent boy?”
“Pretty much.” Paul continued to smile as Mitch looked at his knees and said
something that sounded like ‘fucking fantastic.’ “The time’s going to fly by,
Mitch, trust me.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia sat in class, tapping her pen against her teeth and pointedly ignoring
her Latin teacher. Mitch had been missing for two weeks and there was still no
sign of him. There had been a myriad of useless tips from people who had seen
him in Los Angeles the night of his disappearance, and one or two that said
they’d seen him in Humps a few times, but no one seemed to have seen who he
went home with. Well, one person said he saw Mitch dancing with two men, one of
which kind of looked like the actor Richard Carter, but if that the best
description he could give, it was useless.
The police had sent officers over to Humps to ask questions, but most of the
people there were so drunk they couldn’t remember what they’d done in the past
five minutes, let alone who they met two weeks ago. It was frustrating and to
top it off, Ron had announced that the network was going to cut back coverage
on Mitch’s disappearance to four days a week. He’d tried to get them to keep up
the daily broadcasts, but his producers had said they had other things they
needed to focus on.
She raised her hand and her Professor sighed, annoyed at having been cut off in
mid sentence. “Yes, Cynthia?”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
He waved her off and she stood up, walking out of the room briskly. What she
needed was a plan, because she couldn’t very well just sit back and do nothing.
Mitch was her best friend and he would have looked for her. She marched into
the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror staring at herself. The blue in
her hair was almost completely washed out, not to mention her roots were
starting to show. With a sigh, she turned on the tap and splashed water on her
face, letting the cold chill run down her spine.
As she closed her eyes and tried to think, two girls walked in, talking in
hushed tones. “We can’t get in there, we aren’t even eighteen yet.”
“We can, my sister knows a guy. He’ll get us fake...”
They stopped and Cynthia opened her eyes and saw them staring at her. This had
been going on since the whole affair with Mitch. Everyone seemed to clam up in
her presence. Even professors let her leave or skip class without saying
anything. They were treating her like a fragile egg that was going to burst at
any moment and why not? She really might just crack if she didn’t think of
something soon. Shaking her head, she splashed more water on her face. “Don’t
mind me.”
They turned around to walk off, whispering to each other again, but this time
with their voices too low for her to make out. They were probably talking about
how unstable she was anyway. Stupid stuck up bitches always shoving their noses
into things that weren’t their business in the first place. If they weren’t
going to associate with her, the least they could do was ignore her entirely
and go about their conversation as if she wasn’t there. Their stupid, pointless
conversation about going places they were too young to...
Then it hit her. “Hey, wait!”
 
 
*****
 
 
‘Lay off him’ apparently meant that Richard wouldn’t force him into anal
intercourse, but there were a variety of other things that Mitch could do that
didn’t involve having his ass penetrated - blow jobs, hand jobs, something
Richard called frottage. He’d thought about complaining to Paul, because it was
becoming more and more apparent that Paul didn’t know Richard as well as he
thought he did, but the problem was that Mitch had gotten off on a lot of it
and he felt strange complaining about something that had, in some twisted way,
felt good.
Currently, Richard was on the computer talking to someone, laughing
occasionally and Mitch was laying in the pillows on the bed, watching a
television series that Richard had bought for him, ‘Dead Like Me.’ It was funny
in a dark sort of way, but Mitch had been feeling dark lately, so that was
okay. A particularly boisterous laugh from the computer nearly made Mitch jump,
but he just managed to reign himself in. God, he couldn’t concentrate on what
was going on, he’d have to watch it again later.
So far Richard had bought him the entire series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer,
Season One of Dead Like Me, and all of Roswell. He already owned the entire set
of Queer as Folk, both the British and the American versions, but he’d said
that if Mitch liked them, he could have them. He’d also ordered Mitch some
basic clothing: A few pairs of boxers, t-shirts and some pajama pants for him
to wear around the room. He wouldn’t buy any trousers, because he maintained
that Mitch wasn’t going outside, therefore he didn’t need them.
The laptop snapped shut and Mitch’s eyes shifted to Richard, who had turned in
his chair to watch him. “I have to go. My manager wants to meet so he can yell
at me about the latest bad publicity. I’ll be back in a few.”
Without another word, Richard grabbed his jacket off the chair and left,
locking the door behind him. Holding his breath, Mitch listened for the sound
of footsteps going down the stairs and then heard the rumble of the car
starting. It softened to a purr and he followed it with his eyes, as if he
could see through the floor as it backed out and down the drive. It wasn’t
uncommon for Richard to leave suddenly and Mitch did occasionally wonder if it
was really because he had something to do or if he just wanted to get out for a
while. Not that it mattered, because it was at these times that he had the
opportunity to watch the news.
They were talking about the weather and Mitch sat up, wrapping the quilts
around himself protectively as he waited. Thirty minutes later, he turned off
the television in shock. They hadn’t mentioned him. Not one word. For the past
two weeks not a single day had gone by without at least a flash of his picture
with the number and a word from Ron, but today they hadn’t said anything. This
was worse than when they announced he’d been seen at Humps. Not that he’d been
in the closet or anything, but he’d only ever told his closest friends that he
was gay. Now the entire State of California knew.
He frowned and his eyes watered. Were they giving up? They couldn’t, it had
only been two weeks. He was still stuck in this place with that man that
insisted on pretending they were lovers. He was still being raped almost daily
and the thought that they weren’t even looking for him... He wiped the tears
off his cheek with the back of his hand and turned the DVD player back on, not
really watching what was going on.
His father wouldn’t give up, he just wouldn’t. An evil voice that sounded
remarkably like Richard whispered in the back of his mind, ‘even if he found
out you were gay?’ He shook his head to clear the thought. Why hadn’t he told
his parents? Why hadn’t he just come clean? Now his parents knew and they
probably thought he was some kind of slut, considering he was going to Humps.
Sniffing, he felt his chin shake and buried his head in the pillows to cry. It
wasn’t fair, he didn’t want to be here, but it was his fault and maybe he
deserved it. Maybe this was the price you paid for lying to the people who
loved you the most.
He wasn’t sure how long he laid on the bed crying. It seemed that he was doing
a lot of that lately, more than he ever had before and he wondered if it made
him weak or just more of a kid then the already was. The lock clicked open and
he looked up, watching as Paul came in the room and shut the door, keying in
the alarm behind him.
Mitch sat up, hastily trying to wipe the traces of his tears from his face,
even if he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Of all Richard’s friends, Paul was the
most normal. He was also the one that Mitch had the most contact with. Since
the party he hadn’t seen Tanner at all and had only seen Mickey and Louis once
when they’d come to play games and discuss a movie Richard wanted them to be
extras on, some action film or another about an Arab Czar. He had jokingly
mentioned Mitch playing in the harem, ruffling the kid’s hair before turning
away and going back to detailing what he knew of the project to his friends.
“Hey, Mitch, I brought you some stuff to cheer you up!” He stopped as he
entered the room and Mitch saw that he was holding a large paper bag from the
Gap. Its bottom was sagging, but Paul was holding it like it weighed nothing.
The older man set down the bag and went to the bed, careful to sit a few feet
away. “Have you been crying again?”
Mitch started to say no, but a hiccup caught the word and he shut his mouth.
Paul chuckled and looked at his sideways. “What did Richard say this time?”
Numbly, Mitch shook his head. Compared to this, crying over something Richard
had said seemed childish and stupid. “I...” Could he really tell Paul? If he
did, would Paul tell Richard? Would he get into trouble for watching the news?
“Nothing.”
“Not nothing, come on. Did you do something you weren’t supposed to?” Mitch
felt himself going pale and Paul nodded, “I’m not your nanny, Mitch. I’m here
to keep you company, not tattle on you. If Richard can’t figure out on his own
when you’re doing something wrong, then he doesn’t deserve to know.”
After several seconds thinking it over, Mitch sighed. “I was watching the
news.”
“Ah.” Paul leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and looked at the
television thoughtfully, “The anchorman say something, then?”
Mitch shook his head, “He didn’t say anything.”
Paul felt his pulse start to race and closed his eyes, taking a controlling
breath. This was good, right? It meant that Mitch would forget about rescue or
escape and just sit back and try to make the best of the next few months, maybe
even stop crying almost daily, but when Paul turned his head to tell Mitch just
that, there was something in the desperation on the kid’s face that stopped
him. He was only fifteen and he thought his family had abandoned him to his
rapist. Fuck it.
“Come on, Mitch, you know them better than that. Your father is the Chief of
Police. He wouldn’t stop looking for you.” Mitch’s face brightened, only a
little, but it was something and Paul reached over, wrapping an arm around the
kid and pulling him into a hug. “They’re looking for you. Just because they
can’t say it on the news doesn’t mean they’ve stopped.”
The tension in Mitch’s body made it feel like Paul was hugging a statue, but he
didn’t let up, not until he felt some of that bleed away and the boy becoming
more relaxed at the contact. “Now, do you want to see what I’ve brought you?”
Mitch nodded into his chest and Paul stood up, grabbing the bag from beside the
door and bringing it over to the bed. “Remember the other day when you were
complaining about getting behind in your school work?”
“Yeah.” Mitch felt the smile on creep onto his face as he imagined what Cynthia
would say when she found out he had been complaining about not having homework.
She might just die of shock.
“Well, my little brother’s a year ahead of you, so I snuck out his old school
books for you.” Paul pulled out five books, one at a time and set them all on
Mitch’s lap. “There’s math, English, Latin, chemistry, and something on art. I
don’t know if you’re into art or not, but it’s something to pass the time.”
Mitch stared down at them. They weren’t the same as his books, but they were
something to read if he wanted to. Of course, he hadn’t yet, but he figured
that eventually he’d get tired of watching television all day and now he had
something to do otherwise. “Thank you.”
Paul smiled and Mitch ducked his head shyly. “Don’t mention it. I also brought
you these.”
Mitch looked up and saw a pair of folded jeans in Paul’s arms. “What...?”
“I know, Richard usually makes his boys run around in night clothes all day.
When he goes to take you home, he’ll make you put back on the clothes he picked
you up in. Thing is... well, I just figured that seeing as you’re parents only
recently found out you were even gay, you wouldn’t want to show up wearing
bondage pants and a fish net shirt. Maybe that’s just me, but...”
He was cut off as Mitch hugged him. Paul didn’t move for a minute, just stared
down in shock at the mussed up sandy colored hair under his chin and pale arms
wrapped around his torso. Finally, he managed to put his arms around Mitch. The
boy looked up at him and Paul saw he was near crying again. “Thank you. Thank
you so much.”
Paul tried to force out a laugh, but couldn’t. The pain and desperation in the
kid’s face was heart stopping. It spoke volumes and Paul wondered how he could
let this keep going for another few weeks, let alone months. “Don’t mention it.
Let’s play some games, okay?”
Mitch nodded happily and Paul saw him smile genuinely for the first time since
the night at the club. He was struck by how mesmerizing it was. It made him
want to kiss Mitch and that wasn’t good, because Mitch was only fifteen. You
didn’t go around kissing fifteen-year-olds just because they smiled at you. Of
course, you didn’t go around fucking them, either, but Paul had resolved that
wouldn’t happen again if he could help it. He’d just have to resist next time
Richard tried to get him to take drugs.
Finally he settled on kissing the top of Mitch’s head and trying to ignore the
shock on the kid’s face at the display of affection. He’d make sure Mitch got
home safe, just as soon as he could convince Richard.
***** Chapter 5 *****
“Paul, wake up.”
Paul groaned and turned over, burying his head in his pillow.
“Come on, I know you’re awake.”
It was Richard again and he was probably just trying to get him out of bed so
they could sneak out and rig pranks for old Professor Beirs again. “No, ‘m too
tired, Richie. ‘ll do Beirs another night.”
Richard chuckled deeply, too deeply. Richard had a higher voice than that, he
sung goddamned tenor in the choir. “It’s ten years too late to do Beirs, dude.
Besides, back then you didn’t swing that way, remember?”
Everything came back to him and Paul opened his eyes to find himself staring
blearily at his best friend and lover. “Ha, fuckin’ ha. What time is it?”
“Nearly two in the morning.” Paul looked at the clock and blinked it into
focus. Sure enough, the time was rounding on two in the morning. Richard ran a
hand over his forehead, brushing sweat damp hair off his forehead. “What were
you two doing all day?”
Paul sat up, stretching and noticed that Mitch was still sound asleep beside
him, curled into a ball with his back pressed firmly against the wall. “Video
games, television, I even went over some of his math with him to see if I could
help. He reminds me of Jeremy.”
“You helped him with math?”
Paul shrugged, “I brought him some of Jeremy’s old school texts to keep him
occupied. He’s dying of boredom in here, whether you see it or not. You do
remember being fifteen, right?”
Richard stared at the sleeping boy on his bed for a moment longer before
looking back. “Yeah, I do. Why don’t you stay the night? We’ve got to work out
tomorrow and it’s late.”
Paul nodded and watched as Richard shed his clothes. Overall, Paul could say he
wasn’t gay. Well, he wasn’t any more gay than he was straight. He liked women,
he liked breasts a lot, but for some reason he also liked Richard. He spared a
glance at Mitch, who mumbled something in his sleep. He liked Mitch too, even
if he didn’t care to admit it, and not in that brotherly sort of way like he’d
told Richard. When he saw the way the kid cringed away from physical contact,
he just wanted to take him in his arms and show him how good it could be, but
there was Richard to consider.
He’d never felt anything for one of Richard’s boys before. He came over when
Richard asked him to and sat and watched them do whatever they wanted to do.
They in turn kept their distance from him. It was a mutually beneficial
arrangement in that they didn’t starve and he got out of his house for a little
while. Mitch was different. He hadn’t adapted as well, or as quickly as the
others had. He cried a lot more, got angry quicker. He was more apt to go into
boughts of melancholy, especially when left alone for more than a few minutes.
Mitch needed him and that was... kind of nice.
“You all right?”
He looked back and saw Richard standing in the middle of the room, naked except
for his underwear, his well developed muscles shining in the half light coming
through the crack in the curtains. He was like some Herculean god and Paul felt
his groin stirring. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Coming to bed?”
Richard winked at him and crawled in, pushing himself between Paul and Mitch
and pressing his chest to Paul’s back. Paul felt breath on the back of his neck
and closed his eyes as Richard threw an arm around him. If he tried hard, he
could pretend it was just the two of them, but for the first time in longer
than he could remember, he didn’t want it to be.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul woke in the morning on his side, bright light filtering in over his face,
but that wasn’t what had woken him. What had woken him was the feeling of hands
parting his ass cheeks and a slick, familiar cock sliding effortlessly into
him. He moaned in shock and pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut again to savor
the rare sensation of Richard fucking him. It wasn’t often that Richard got in
the mood for sex with Paul, because Paul didn’t like it rough and kinky, he
liked it slow and languorous, he liked it to last a long time, and he liked it
to be attached to a modicum of emotion. Richard generally like to take his
pleasure and take it quickly, but every so often, when he got in the mood for
something akin to making love, he would turn to Paul.
Paul closed his eyes and breathed in, moaning loudly as Richard sank the rest
of the way inside him, his balls resting against Paul’s ass. Richard pulled out
a fraction and pushed back in and Paul gasped a little. It had been quite a
while since Richard had wanted to have sex and if it wasn’t Richard and if he
wasn’t high, Paul rarely had sex with men. Of course, it was at times like this
that he wondered why that was.
Richard moved in and out again, this time putting just a small amount of force
behind it, not enough to hurt, but enough to get him deeper and Paul pushed his
face into his pillow to muffle the undignified noises that he was making. For
nearly five minutes, Richard kept his pace, pulling out just enough so that the
push back in was breathtaking and deep. Paul could feel his balls stirring and
his cock was rock hard, aching to be touched. He’d given up trying not to make
noise and was grunting lewdly.
He felt teeth on the back of his neck as Richard sucked and scraped the barest
hints of teeth over the sensitive skin and his hand crept from Paul’s hip to
his cock and began stroking. Paul reach behind him and grabbed Richard’s thigh,
pulling him all the way in as he shot his load onto the bed in front of him,
practically screaming in release.
Hot breath ghosted over his ear, “Roll onto your stomach, love.”
Paul whimpered, but did as he was told, rolling over and turning his head
towards the wall. This was what made Richard such a great lover, when he took
his time, when he made absolutely sure that his partner got just as much out of
the sex as he was getting, when he... Paul’s train of thought stopped as he saw
Mitch, laying next to him, pressed against the wall, with a strange look of
confused betrayal in his eyes. Shit.
Richard grunted heavily and came, spilling deep inside Paul’s ass. Mitch looked
away, his mouth set in a pout. Paul looked back at Richard and felt a spark of
betrayal himself. Richard was staring at Mitch, a smug, satisfied grin
plastered on his handsome face. Son of a bitch. Pushing up, Paul grit his teeth
to keep from making noise as Richard rolled off and out of him.
When he looked back, it was like he could have imagined the whole thing. Mitch
had turned his back to them again, staring at the wall in favor of the man next
to him and Richard’s gaze was on Paul, raking up and down his naked, ravished
body and mussed hair. “Good morning, Paul.”
Paul rolled his eyes and sighed, “What time is it?”
Richard chuckled and reached behind him, smacking Mitch’s ass half-heartedly
through the sheets before getting up. “Nearly noon. We’d better take a shower
and get out of here.” He wrapped an arm around Paul from behind and bit the
back of his shoulder playfully, “Unless you want to go another round, that is?”
Paul shrugged off the arm and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind
him. God, he was being such a child. Richard had never been the faithful sort,
especially not to him, but there had always been a line. Paul had always been
the one that Richard went to for help, the one he trusted, the one he came the
closest to loving, because Paul didn’t really think Richard was capable of out-
and-out love. At least, that was what he had thought, but something in the way
he was looking at Mitch was predatory, like he was marking territory, only Paul
was afraid that he wasn’t the territory.
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch could ignore the dip in the mattress as Richard sat on it, but he
couldn’t ignore the hand on his shoulder that gently turned him over. If he’d
wanted to, he could have resisted, but what good would it have done? Richard
was bigger than him, stronger, if he wanted Mitch to look at him, he could make
him. The man’s eyes were alight, like he was when he thought something was
incredibly funny and Mitch didn’t like the idea that he was the butt of the
joke.
Richard leaned down and kissed him and Mitch could taste the slightly salty
flavor of someone else’s sweat in his mouth. Paul’s sweat. “I told you,
Mitchell-dear. I told you he’d love it, didn’t I?”
With a pout, Mitch looked past Richard at the ceiling, “Yeah.”
Richard nuzzled his neck, licking his skin in what Mitch was almost sure was
supposed to be a seductive manner. “He likes it when I fuck him and you will
too.” One of the Richard’s hands crept into his pants and Mitch shot up and
scooted to the end of the bed. Richard didn’t try to stop him, just stared and
smiled, like nothing was wrong.
The man was fucking insane, especially if he thought Mitch would ever enjoy
being touched by him. In an uncharacteristic show of defiance, Mitch stood up
off the bed and glared down, “Go fuck yourself, Richie.”
An ugly sneer creased his face and Richard was off the bed in a flash. Mitch
had just managed to dodge a blow aimed at his face when the sound of the shower
turning on filled the room and all movement stopped. As if coming back to
himself, the sneer melted and Richard smiled. “Watch yourself, Mitchell-dear,
Paul won’t always be here.”
Richard went into the bathroom and Mitch sat shakily down on the floor next to
the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.
What the hell had made him do that? Maybe he was going insane as well. Mitch
held his hand out in front of him and watched it shake for a moment before
clenching it shut. He had to get it together, because sooner or later Richard
would make a mistake and Mitch wanted to be sure he noticed it.
 
 
*****
 
 
3318#. Nothing. Mitch sighed in frustration and wrote the number on the piece
of paper pressed against the wall. 3319#. Nothing. He wrote that one down as
well. 33... footsteps. Quickly, he pressed the pound button again and ran over
to the bed, sitting on the floor next to it and picking up the remote. He’d
just managed to hit the play button when the door opened and Richard came in,
his exercise satchel slung over his shoulder and a large bundle of mail in one
hand.
The satchel fell to the floor beside the desk, but instead of sitting in the
chair, which was his usual routine, Richard fell onto the bed, splaying his
arms out and giving and exhausted moan. Mitch kept his head down, hoping that
Richard wouldn’t notice as he slid the little piece of paper under the bed as
far as he could.
One of the letters in Richard’s hand fell on the floor, hitting with a little
thump against the carpet and Mitch just managed to stop himself from jumping.
Richard, however, didn’t seem to notice it and sat up, running a hand through
his hair. “I’ve just spent the last few hours listening to Paul bitch about the
way I treat you.”
Mitch went cold at the tension in Richard’s voice, but he couldn’t bring
himself to say anything in return. Why did Paul have to go and voice his
opinions to Richard? Why couldn’t he just go to the police or let him go?
“I just don’t get it.” Richard let go of his own head and used the hand to pull
Mitch’s head back by his hair and look him in the eyes. “He’s never shown
interest in any of the others. What’s so special about you?”
Mitch bit his lip, his eyes huge with anticipation. He wasn’t sure what he
expected, maybe to be hit, or for the hand in his hair to pull harder, but
Richard wasn’t in the mood for abuse. He let go and sighed, scooting further
back on the bed to look at his letters. Mitch went limp with relief. Paul was a
touchy subject with Richard. He seemed secure in that he controlled the other
man, but whenever Paul did anything that showed preferential treatment of
Mitch, it put Richard in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
He clenched his shaking hands into fists and counted to ten, taking deep
breaths. It was okay, he could handle this - at least he hadn’t been hit again
or raped. Slowly, the tension unwound from his body and he opened his eyes. His
gaze fell on the letter, still laying face up on the floor. It said Internal
Revenue Service in the top corner and Wayne Guider in the center, the address
was for a PO Box in... Rolling Hills? Wasn’t that in near the coast, like an
hour south of Los Angeles or something? Who did Richard know all the way out
there and why was he getting their mail?
Picking up the envelope, Mitch turned around to hand it to Richard. “Who’s
Wayne Guider?”
Richard looked up sharply, which was the only warning Mitch had before the back
of a hand knocked him to the floor. He pushed himself up, holding his jaw while
Richard took the letter from him. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Mitchell-dear.”
He moved his jaw tentatively. God, that hurt, but he was probably lucky it
wasn’t broken. Glancing up at Richard, he corrected himself - Richard knew his
own strength, if Mitch’s jaw wasn’t broken, that was because he hadn’t wanted
it to be. Oddly, Mitch felt like thanking him, because he didn’t think Richard
would take him to a doctor, broken jaw or not. Instead, he went back to
watching television, careful to keep the volume low as his assessment of
Richard’s mood had apparently been correct in the first place.
It was the Christmas episode of Roswell, the one where Isabelle is the
Christmas Nazi and Max saves the hospital full of children. It was only about
two months to Christmas. Would he be home by then? He tried to ignore the
little voice in the back of his head that kept pointing out that he couldn’t be
sure he was ever going home. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought
the he would get to see his family again and that Richard didn’t intend to kill
him. He was wondering if his parents would buy his the X-Box for Christmas like
he wanted. Well, had wanted. He was beginning to think that if he ever got out
of here he’d never touch another video game as long as he lived. Or a
television. Maybe he could get them to agree to give him riding lessons, or ice
skating lessons, anything outside of the house. With a sigh, he let himself
slip into thoughts of all the outdoors activities that he could do.
 
 
*****
 
 
“Jessie! You’re back!”
Mitch groggily opened his eyes and looked over at Richard, who was sitting at
his computer, smiling at the cell phone that was propped up on its mount. A
voice that Mitch didn’t recognize chuckled. “Yeah, took forever to get that
account settled. Anthony tells me you’ve a new boy?”
It wasn’t often that Richard used the speaker phone. He seemed to prefer to
keep his conversations quiet. Mitch wondered if he hadn’t realized he was awake
yet and closed his eyes, just in case.
“I do indeed. He’s a spitfire, Jessie. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“How about tonight?”
There was a pause. “Not tonight, I’ve got something planned for today. You
doing anything tomorrow?”
“I took a few days off for Anthony. What time do you want us over there?”
“Eight o’clock and bring pizza.”
Mitch opened one eye discretely as he heard the sound of the phone hanging up
and saw Richard swivel his chair around to face him. “Hey, Mitchell-dear.”
Shit. Mitch opened his other eye and sat up, trying to suppress the urge to
stretch. Richard always ogled him when he stretched. Instead, he pulled the
blankets up with him and covered himself, trying his best to look cold. At
least Richard had left the fan on this time.
Richard smiled and reached behind him, closing the computer with a click. It
wasn’t a loud click, but to Mitch it sounded like thunder, because when Richard
closed his laptop without turning it off, it meant he wasn’t leaving the
apartment, and if he was looking at Mitch when he did it, that meant he wanted
to entertain himself with his unwilling partner.
Mitch shifted uncomfortably as Richard sat on the bed and sidled up to him. He
hated this, he hated it. Richard put a hand on the side of his face and kissed
him, working his tongue into the younger boy’s mouth languorously. Please make
him stop, I can’t do it again. Mitch hated feeling weak. He hated knowing that
even if he fought this, Richard would win, had won many times before. There
wasn’t anything he could do.
The hand stole over Mitch’s face and down the side of his neck. It stroked his
shoulder before slipping to the quilt and pulling it away to expose the shaking
form under it. Mitch pulled away sharply. “Stop.”
Richard responded by grabbing the back of him head and pulling him back up into
the kiss, gripping his hair tightly. Mitch whimpered under the bruising lips.
Sometimes he thought this was worse than the rape. Rape was supposed to be
humiliating and degrading, but kissing... that was supposed to be about showing
someone affection. Somehow, Richard managed to turn everything into a show of
dominance, from sex to going to the bathroom.
The hand that had been resting on Mitch’s shoulder moved forward and down,
slowly traversing over Mitch’s shaking chest, over his quivering abdomen and
came to rest on the hem of his pants. Even though he knew what was coming, even
though he knew how useless fighting it was, Mitch couldn’t help himself. He
reached down and tried to pull Richard’s hand away from him, away from that
part of him.
Richard moaned and let go of his hair, ripping his mouth away from Mitch’s,
looking at him a feral grin.
“Please, Richard. Please?”
His wrists were grabbed and Richard forced him onto his back, settling himself
between Mitch’s legs. “You look so pretty when you beg.”
“No!” He tried to wrestle free his hands, but Richard pinned them to bed on
either side of his head and started kissing down the side of his neck, ignoring
his struggles. Knowing it was useless, he forced himself to lay still, just
wanting it to be over.
Richard chuckled against his neck. “You smell good. Maybe I do understand why
Paul likes you so much. You feel so helpless. He always was a sucker for
wounded animals.” Mitch scowled and pressed the flats of his feet on the bed,
trying to push up and dislodged the actor. He only succeeded in grinding their
hips together. “Now, now, no need to take offense, Mitchell-dear. Remember when
I told you that you’d like it? You will.”
Oh, god. Mitch frantically tried to pull his hands away, to buck Richard off
him, anything to stop this, but it wasn’t going to stop and he could helpless
tears welled up in his eyes.
Richard moved his hands so that they were above his head and shifted his grip
to hold both of Mitch’s wrists in only one of his hands. Getting onto his
knees, he reached behind the bed, searching for something between the wall and
the mattress. Mitch was trying to get a leg under Richard’s to kick him in
groin and he bent his head back to see what the man was doing… and froze when
Richard’s hand came up holding a length of rope.
As he watched, the actor pulled until the end of the rope came up and then
started to wind it around Mitch’s wrists. With a disbelieving cry, Mitch
doubled his efforts for freedom. He kicked Richard’s feet, he tried to hammer
at the back of his thighs, anything to make the task of tying him up more
difficult, to get him to slip up and relax his grip, for even a second, but
when Richard finally let go it was because he was finished.
Mitch pulled at the restraint, but there wasn’t any give and the short length
didn’t even allow him to lift his hands more that an inch or two off the bed.
Richard sat back on his knees and smiled, as if it was all a game. “Just
relax.”
Relax? Mitch tried to pull his leg in again so that he could kick Richard, he
wasn’t even sure where anymore, because he face seemed like an appealing
option, but the groin would probably do more damage. Richard put a hand on his
knees and forced his legs to remain where they were, draped over the man’s
thighs. “I said relax. That can be achieved one of two way, Mitchell-dear,
willingly, or I can get the drugs. Your choice.”
The blood drained from Mitch’s face and he felt himself go limp from fear. He
didn’t want to be drugged again, he didn’t. Even the idea of taking the Tylenol
was terrifying, because it made it hard for him to think. Richard relaxed his
grip on Mitch’s knees and leaned over, kissing his slack lips. “Better.”
Mitch closed his eyes as Richard untied the drawstring to his pajama bottoms
and pulled them and his underwear off. He closed his eyes tighter when Richard
put his hands under Mitch’s knees and forced them up high, wider. A wet finger
probed him and pushed in and Mitch keened softly. Without the effects of the
drug making him pliable, it was uncomfortable, intrusive.
After a minute, a second finger pushed in. That hurt. He pressed down with his
feet, trying to push away, but Richard put a hand on his thigh, stopping the
movement. Pushing up his shirt, Richard tongued his navel, leaving a wet trail
up to his nipples before biting them softly, rolling the tiny nubs between his
teeth, smiling into his chest. He latched onto it, teething and sucking it
until it was swollen and then flicking it with his tongue. “Have you ever
thought about getting a piercing?”
He groaned helplessly as Richard moved onto the other nipple. “It would look
sexy on you, with your small build.”
Mitch wanted to tell him where he could shove his ideas of what was sexy, but
Richard introduced a third finger into his arse and he became quite unable to
think of anything other than the searing, stretching pain in his backside. It
hurt, a lot, and he couldn’t stop the whimpers that fell from his mouth as
Richard moved the fingers. Unfortunately, the more Richard moved, the more a
certain part of Mitch’s body seemed to take an interest in it and, despite the
intense, stinging pain, it wasn’t long before his cock was achingly hard.
Leaning forward just a little further, Richard kissed him, twisting his tongue
around Mitch’s mouth and ignoring the fact that his partner was unresponsive.
After nearly a full minute of deep kissing, Richard pulled away, his face flush
with arousal and pulled his fingers out. Mitch cried out once before he managed
to close his throat. He hated himself. He hated that he was so weak that he
couldn’t hide his pain. He hated that while he watched Richard undoing the
buttons of his shirt and slipping it off his broad shoulders, Mitch’s cock
seemed to think this was a fabulous thing, while inside, his stomach was
clenching in fear.
Richard stood to remove his trousers and Mitch looked up, frantically tugging
at the bonds around his wrists. This was even worse than being held down. At
least then he could see the strain in Richard’s face as the larger man tried to
keep him in place, but the rope was entirely unforgiving and it rubbed against
his wrists, reminded him that even if he could fight Richard off somehow, it
would keep him there until the man recovered.
The bed dipped and Mitch looked down to see Richard hovering over him, staring
down intently. Mitch shook his head minutely in protest, because it was the
only thing he could do as Richard set a small bottle on the bed beside him and
crawled forward, forcing Mitch’s thighs open with his hands and knees.
“Please?”
Richard reached for the bottle and thumbed it open, ignoring Mitch entirely as
he spread clear fluid over his hard cock. Mitch closed his eyes as hands
grabbed the undersides of his knees and forced his legs to fold over and up.
“Mitchell-dear, open your eyes.”
Mitch dragged his eyes open, looking at Richard, who was hovering over him. He
felt so vulnerable with his legs over Richard’s shoulders and his ass lifted
off the bed, presenting itself to Richard’s hard, slicked cock. Mitch gripped
the rope in his hands, desperate for something to brace himself with as he felt
the head of that cock against the pucker of his ass.
Richard slowly pressed into him. The pressure built uncomfortably until the
head popped past the resistance. Mitch cried out, more from the suddenness of
the tearing pain.   Every other time this had been done to him, he’d been under
the influence of some kind of drug, but not this time. This time there was
nothing dulling his senses and he couldn’t stop himself from begging. “Stop!
Take it out, please! Please, stop!” Richard eased his way in slowly, not
stopping until he was fully seated in the boy’s ass.
Richard stared down at him, holding his eye contact determinedly and undulated
his hips, earning a sob from Mitch. “God, you’re so tight.”
As slowly as he had entered, Richard started to move, rocking back and forth
and Mitch closed eyes, fighting the urge to outright cry. “Richard, please.
Please, it hurts.”  Richard ignored him and pulled out an inch, pushed back in
sharply. The angle of the shallow, upward thrusts caused Richard’s cock to
brush against his prostate, making stars go off in his head, despite the
agonizing pain of having his ass torn open.
Richard leaned down and kissed him, working his tongue around Mitch’s mouth as
he continued to move, lengthening his thrusts. Mitch felt tears building up in
his eyes at the same time that he caught himself moaning into Richard’s mouth.
His eyes were rolling into the back of his head, caught between the pleasure of
that one wicked place inside him and the ripping pain of Richard’s intrusion.
The man reached between them and wrapped his hand around Mitch’s cock. A few
quick strokes was all it took for Mitch to explode in orgasm, his back arching
as the intensity of it made his toes curl and his head feel light. Richard
thrust twice before stopping, his seed spreading warm through Mitch’s ass.
At length, Richard pulled out. He reached over the edge of the bed and fished
around for his shirt, using it to wipe Mitch’s ass of lubricant and cum before
leaning down again and kissing him softly, “I told you you’d enjoy it, didn’t
I? You were so good, Mitchell-dear. You were perfect.”
Mitch knew he was crying, tears making his vision blurry, but Richard didn’t
seem to care about that as he undid the bindings on the boy’s wrists. “Let’s
get you in the shower.”
Fighting back a grimace, he sat up on the bed while Richard went into the
bathroom to turn on the water. He hurt, not as much as the last time two weeks
ago, but he was sore and walking was the last thing he wanted to do. With a
small sob, he dropped his head to his knees and let himself cry. Screw Richard
and screw the whole fucking thing. He didn’t care if he looked like a child, he
was a child. He was fifteen and all those arguments he’d had with his parents
about how he was old enough to take care of himself seemed so stupid now. He
should never have said that, because he wasn’t old enough for any of it.
Hands grabbed his upper arms, yanking up and Mitch let them. If he ever got out
of here, he’d never argue with his parents again. He’d never leave home without
supervision. He’d go to bed when they said to. He’d eat all his vegetables and
he’d do his homework first thing. He wouldn’t watch television after eight.
He’d keep his room clean. He’d help around the house. He’d even join one of
those stupid after school clubs his mother was always preaching to him about.
Richard pushed him into the shower and under the hot spray of water and Mitch
felt it cascade down his skin, unable to wash off the filth that was under it.
He’d do anything.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Paul stood outside the door of Richard’s room and listened to the rhythmic
beeps from inside. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep. He took a deep drag of
his cigarette and the beeping started again. Mitch was trying to figure out the
alarm code and from the sound of it he was only changing one number each time.
Clever Mitch. Not that it would do him any good, Richard changed the codes
every other week when he had a boy in his room. The odds that Mitch would come
across the correct one before Richard changed it were slim to impossible, not
that he was going to tell Mitch that. The poor kid needed some kind of hope.
He silently dropped the butt and pulled out another one, lighting it and taking
another deep inhale. God, this was harder than it should be. He looked forward
to going into the room almost as much as he dreaded it. He’d never looked
forward to seeing any of Richard’s other boys. In fact, he generally stayed the
hell away from Richard’s home while they were there. But then, most of them had
acclimatized to their situation quickly and Paul had preferred the illusion
that they wanted to be there to the reality that he saw when he was alone with
them.
Duncan wrapped his arm around Richard’s neck, smiling up at him with
heartbreaking ease. “You’ll come home soon, then? I get lonely without you.”
Richard smiled back and ran a hand through the messy brown hair, pulling the
head back slightly to gaze down into the pale blue eyes. “Of course you get
lonely. Now watch television and I’ll bring you back something nice.” Without
letting go of the young man’s head, he turned to Paul, who was sitting,
uninterested at his computer desk. “Keep a close eye on him, Paul.”
Duncan pouted prettily as Richard left, clasping his hands behind his back the
moment his arms were free and watching the door close. Paul leaned back in the
chair and watched, half interested, half annoyed, as Duncan’s pout melted off
his face the moment the lock clicked, leaving him looking vacant. He didn’t
unclasp his hands, he didn’t sit down, he didn’t move at all. He just stared at
the door. It was... disconcerting.
The first day that Paul had seen Duncan after his kidnapping, the boy had
rushed the door the moment it opened and Richard had had to physically drag the
struggling boy out of the way so Paul could shut and lock the door. The second
time he had seen him, the boy had been sitting on the bed, huddled in blankets,
staring at the television in morose silence. He hadn’t even responded when
asked if he wanted food. After only two weeks, however, Paul had seen a
remarkable change. He’d walked in with Richard and Duncan had practically
bowled them over in his eagerness to get to Richard, kissing and fawning over
him enthusiastically. He’d smiled and asked what presents Richard had brought
for him. He’d blushed when Richard had complimented him, biting his lip and
playing coy when Richard implied sex. He’d even teased Richard a little,
brushing his hand against the tops of Richard’s thighs while they were sitting
on the bed together
Now... Paul stared openly at the young man standing in the middle of the room,
his face and body language betraying no more emotion than a teaspoon. “Duncan?”
The boy looked over, startled from his thoughts, but he didn’t smile, he didn’t
speak, just walked over to the bed and sat down, picking up the remote without
turning the television on. Paul shrugged and started to turn away.
“You’re Paul, right?”
He stopped and looked back, but Duncan was still staring forward, unblinking.
After a moment, he nodded, “Yeah, I’m Paul.”
“If I...” Duncan bit his lip, but didn’t look over, “If I asked you to let me
go, would you?”
It seemed strange to reconcile this creature with the boy who had, for the past
few weeks, been nothing but happy. It was odd, disconcerting and Paul really
wasn’t sure what to make of it. “No.”
Duncan let his lip go, “Thought so,” and he’d turned on the television with a
sigh, laying his head on his knees.
It wasn’t until the day that Richard told Duncan he was going home that Paul
realized exactly how much of an act the entire two months had been. Duncan’s
face had literally lit up and he’d smiled and kept asking Richard if he meant
it, over and over, even when it looked like Richard was getting annoyed with
him. As he’d gathered the things Richard told him to, his step had been
lighter, he’d actually giggled a few times, quite unlike the seductive little
nymph that Paul had seen only a few times over the last few weeks.
The others had gone much the same way. With each boy it had become harder for
Paul to ignore the fact that they didn’t want to be there and that what they
were doing was wrong, but Richard was right about a lot of things. They were
all cock hungry sluts that had been picked up at bars like Humps, when they
were too drunk and high to know what they were doing. They were also all
adults, capable to making their own decisions and if they had fallen pray so
easily, then maybe they really were getting what they deserved. At the very
least, Richard wasn’t overly mean to them. He treated them well enough - fed
them, clothed them, bought them things, and he never hurt them. They all went
home eventually, having learned a very valuable lesson about accepting drinks
with strangers.
It could be worse. Richard could beat them, he could starve them, he could
force them to run around the room naked, he could lock the television so they
couldn’t watch anything; hell, he could lock them in his closet and only take
them out when he wanted them. It could be worse.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep beep.
It had gotten worse, though. Mitch was the first one that Richard had actually
physically hit and Paul still wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was that
Mitch had lied to him and Richard was still angry about that. Maybe Richard had
changed. It didn’t matter, though, because he’d still let Mitch go. He’d still
take the kid home, a little worse for the wear, and Mitch would probably never
slut himself out again. He thought briefly about the night of the party and the
sounds of Mitch’s pleas for them to stop. Come to that, the kid may never have
sex at all ever again.
He took another deep breath and dropped the cigarette, stomping it out and
fishing for his keys, making as much noise as possible. There was a good amount
of scrambling and then the sound of the television coming on, very loudly at
first before the volume was turned down. He allowed himself a moment to chuckle
silently before opening the door and stepping inside.
“Morning, Mitch!”
He stopped short. Mitch was sitting on the floor in front of the bed, his face
completely white and his hands shaking around the remote. What gave Paul pause,
however, was not the fear, because he had expected that, but the angry purple
and green bruise that marred his jaw line. “Mitch?”
The boy looked down, pulling his legs tighter against his chest defensively.
Paul quickly shut and locked the door, then walked over, ignoring the obvious
flinch. “Hey, look at me.”
After a moment, Mitch turned his face up a little, his eyes were impossibly
wide and Paul knew what he was afraid of, as much as it pained him to admit it.
Mitch was afraid of punishment. “I’m not mad at you, Mitch, okay? What did
Richard hit you for?”
Please say he’d tried to escape. If Richard had hit Mitch in an attempt to get
out the door, then maybe it had been a matter of self defense, in a way, but...
he looked at the bruise again and his chest ached. No, no matter what Mitch had
done, he was still just a child. Unlike the other whores that Richard dragged
up here, Mitch didn’t know what he was doing or how to handle it. “Never mind.
It doesn’t matter.”
Mitch’s eyes reflected hurt and Paul put a hand on his head. “There’s no excuse
for hitting you. I’ll have a talk with him.”
Mitch’s sagged against the bed in relief. Paul wasn’t mad at him. Paul didn’t
know that he’d been trying to figure out the alarm. Paul would talk to Richard
about hitting him. Not that it would do any good. In the short three weeks that
he’d been there, it had become painfully clear that, despite what he may think,
Paul knew nothing about Richard. Although, maybe it would help, at least a
little, because Richard apparently cared what Paul thought.
He sighed and looked at the Tivo control in his hand. He had to get out of
here. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing all day. The school books
helped, but he felt perpetually dirty because Richard wouldn’t let him get out
of the pajamas and no amount of showering made him feel clean.
Paul sat down besides him and put an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer
and a hand lazily rested on top of his head. The warmth felt nice, it felt like
caring. “Paul?”
“Hm.”
“Who’s Wayne Guider?”
The hand on his head stopped stroking for a second and Mitch was pushed back,
Paul’s eyes taking in his expression carefully. “Where did you hear that name?”
He shrugged, but something in Paul’s eyes told him that lying was out of the
question. “I saw it, on a letter from the IRS that Richard brought home the
other day.”
Paul’s mouth formed an ‘oh.’ “That’s why he hit you, isn’t it? You said
something about the letter and he got upset.”
It wasn’t a question, so Mitch didn’t bother answering it.
With a sigh, Paul leaned back against the bed again. “Wayne Richard Guider. His
mother’s maiden name is Carter. Richard Carter is his stage name.”
Mitch wondered why he’d never thought of that before. Actors always had stage
names, why wouldn’t the famous Richard Carter have one too? But Wayne? The name
didn’t fit him somehow. “Really?”
“Yes. My real name is Paul Hubert Gerring. I refused to use Hubert, but
Zalinsky was my grandmother’s maiden name and Richard liked it, he said it made
me sound cultured.”
“Wayne.” He thought of Richard with his rugged good looks and tried to put the
name to it. “He doesn’t look like a Wayne really.”
Paul shook his head in agreement. “No, never has. He was already calling
himself Richard in first grade.”
Mitch looked down at the remote, rubbing his thumb across the ‘live TV’ button
without pushing it.   “You don’t really look like a Zalinsky, either. Your
hair’s blonde.”
With a chuckle, Paul reached over the bed to the fridge at the end and pulled
out a soda, offering one to Mitch. “My grandmother hates it. My entire family
has brown hair except for me and she keeps accusing me of dying it.”
“Do you?”
“Nope.” Paul took a long drink. “It was darker when I was young, but it
lightened up around middle school. Richard likes it.”
Mitch forced himself to swallow past the stone in the throat. That last thing
Paul had said, that was the crux of his problem. Paul seemed to lean very
heavily on Richard for everything, but what Mitch wanted to know was, how
heavily, because it seemed to him that Paul liked him and maybe he could use
that to get the man to help him. Only, if Paul really did always do what
Richard told him to, then there was no point in getting his hopes up.
“Do you... do you like that name. Zalinsky, I mean.”
Paul shrugged, “I don’t know. I never really fancied becoming an actor, to be
honest. I always wanted to be a doctor, like my father, but Richard just has a
way of getting people to do what he wants. I was applying for med-school and
Richard came to me and said he wanted me to be in one of his movies.
Eventually, I agreed and the next thing I knew I had a stage name, I was in the
tabloids and I had agents and lawyers and god knows what else. It all happened
very quickly.”
He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “To tell you the truth, I was a
little scared at first. Richard’s always been good with people - he loves being
in the spotlight. I’m the opposite. I’d be perfectly happy sitting in a dark
corner, being ignored by the rest of the world.”
“You could.” Mitch nearly bit his tongue. “I mean... well, you have a lot of
money now, so if you wanted to go away and hide from everyone, you could.”
Paul’s eyes glazed over in thought for a moment before he nodded, slowly.
“Yeah, I suppose I could.” He shook his head. “That’s enough serious talk for
one day, I think. What do you want to watch?”
Mitch dropped the subject, because it was obvious that Paul wanted to. Besides,
he’d gotten his answer. Paul was a nice guy, but he was completely under
Richard’s thumb. He didn’t even really think for himself anymore, so there was
no use in hoping he would defy Richard and set Mitch free. Having Paul around
was nice, though, and Mitch would much rather keep him as a friend than annoy
him until he went away.
“I still haven’t started the second season of Dead Like Me.”
“Brilliant.” Paul ruffled his hair as he stood up and went to put the disc in
and Mitch tried very hard to be annoyed with him. It was really hard to be
annoyed, though, when Paul smiled at him like that. Oh well, he’d try later.
 
 
*****
 
 
It had taken almost another two weeks to get her hands on it, but now that she
had it, Cynthia wasn’t sure what to do with it. She held the thick, plastic
card and examined it. Cynthia Redding, age 18. It looked so authentic. She
could go anywhere with this, but how was she going to get there? Mitch had
snuck out the window and used the bus, but then his parents hadn’t had an alarm
on their house. She couldn’t open her window without setting off sirens in
every room of the house and bringing the police down on them.
The police. She scoffed. They hadn’t found anything new in weeks, not since
they’d run into a dead end at Humps. The bar tender reported that Mitch had
drunk a lot, though he couldn’t really remember how much, he’d seen him on the
dance floor for a minute and then nothing for the rest of the evening. Mr.
Dearing thought Mitch might have gone to a different bar, but so far no one had
reported seeing him anywhere else and the precious few leads they had gotten
had dried up.
She turned the ID over in her hand while she contemplated what she was about to
do. Cynthia didn’t want to, she wanted to stay right there in Hatfield, so that
when Mitch got home she could hug him and listen to him vent about everything
that had happened, but there was just no way she was going to be able to sneak
out of her mother’s house. She slid the card into her purse and shoved the
black bag under her bed before standing up and walking to the kitchen.
Her mother had just gotten home and was cutting onions to cook dinner. It had
been the only positive thing to come out of this whole affair. Her mother,
having realized how easily it could have been her own recalcitrant daughter who
had snuck out and disappeared, had begun to make a real effort to be a mom.
She’d started cooking dinner, although she burned half of everything, if she
had work to do after hours, she brought it home, she’d even offered to help
Cynthia with her homework. It was just another reason for Cynthia to hate what
she was about to do.
“Mom?”
Her mother looked up and Cynthia winched as she saw the knife nearly cut off a
finger. “Yes, dear?”
“I was thinking,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and clenched her fists.
This was for Mitch, she could do this for Mitch. “I want to go stay with dad
for a while.”
Putting down the knife abruptly, her mother grabbed a cloth and wiped her
hands. “Why?”
“I just can’t take it anymore. It’s been a month and... and nothing. Everywhere
I go in school and at home, it all reminds me of Mitch. I need... a little
time, maybe. It’s hard to think he’s not here and he might never be here again.
It’ll be easier at dads,” she gulped at the flash of pain that crossed her
mother’s face, “there isn’t as much there that reminds me of Mitch. I...”
Her mother sighed, “Of course, I’m sorry. I’ve been smothering you and...”
“That’s not it!” She stepped forward and then thought better of it, stepping
back again. “I really, really like what’s been going on here. I like having you
home. I like eating dinner with you. I just... I really can’t take Mitch
beingmissing and everything. The kids at school all stare at me, but they never
say anything. I don’t feel right talking to the Dearings, not after I lied to
them and it isn’t getting easier. I... please? Just for a month? Maybe two?
Just until I can get my head straight.”
Reluctantly, her mother nodded, “I’ll call your father tomorrow and we’ll get
things settled.”
Cynthia forced herself not to sigh in relief. She’d been so afraid that nothing
she’d say was going to make a difference, but it had. She was going to Los
Angeles to stay with her father and she’d be able to sneak out and go to the
clubs and... well, she didn’t know what she was going to do after that, but
she’d figure that out when she got there. “Thank you, mom.”
She turned around, not wanting to see the hurt in her mother’s face again. She
had to do this. In a few months she’d come home, maybe with Mitch, maybe not,
but at least she’d have tried. Maybe... maybe if she found him, the Dearings
would understand how sorry she was that she’d lied.
 
 
*****
 
 
Tanner was a sadomasochistic, drama queen with a bad-boy attitude and a fetish
for saying no in the crudest ways possible. He wasn’t all that tall, though he
did stand a good few inches above Mitch. He was, however, spindly thin and
ridiculously flexible. Not to say he went around the room stretching obscenely,
but it was in the way he moved on and off the bed and the way he bent his thin
legs around his boyfriend, Jessie, or Paul when the man let him.
Jessie was the polar opposite. He was tall, taller than Richard by at least two
inches and he was built like a body builder. He had brown hair, buzzed close to
his head and murky brown eyes that penetrated when they stared. Most
importantly, however, he was sadistic in a cold, calculating kind of way that
made Mitch prefer good-old, insane Tanner.
When Jessie had walked into the room that first time, he had been wearing a
pair of jeans and a button down shirt that stretched tight over his arms. He
had seen Mitch and he’d smiled. “Oh, Richard, please explain to me why I’m not
surprised.”
That was Mitch’s first impression and everything that had followed had been
like a downhill battle. The party had gone much like the other one. They’d
played video games, drank various forms of alcohol, ate pizza and talked.
Jessie had a job handling accounts out of the country, though Mitch couldn’t
really discern anything beyond that, and was often gone for weeks on end. When
they’d gotten bored of the games, Richard had brought out the pills - different
ones, powdery white instead of gel capped and smaller.
Mitch had fought it this time. He really had. He’d bitten Richard and he’d
kicked Jessie so hard in the ribs, he thought he might have cracked them, but
it didn’t do any good, they just chuckled at him, forced it past his lips and
then Richard had held a hand over his mouth until it had dissolved onto his
numbing tongue. Then they had fucked him.
To be honest, Mitch couldn’t even remember the order. He knew that Richard
fucked him first, shoving his face in a pillow and slamming into him so hard
that not even the drugs could make it pleasurable. He knew that Louis and
Mickey had gone at him together, one at each end and that Richard had told them
they couldn’t do double penetration anymore. He knew Tanner had fucked Paul
again and that Paul had, at some point fucked him, Richard whispering to Paul
the whole time, telling him how hot it was and how much he loved to watch it.
Most of all, though, he remembered Jessie. Jessie liked pain. Jessie liked to
bite his nipple until it bled and laugh at his pathetic attempts to scoot away.
Jessie liked toys. Until that night, Mitch had only seen butt plugs in the rare
porn he’d occasionally smuggled home. But these weren’t the small little black
rubber things he’d seen in videos, these were huge and one or two of them had
strange nubs on them that made it feel like something alien was inside him. It
didn’t help that whatever they’d made him take made his skin feel five times
too sensitive. He also remembered that Jessie had leaned over him and promised
that this was only the beginning, that Richard said he had to be gentle, but
that he couldn’t wait until he had free reign to do whatever he wanted.
When Mitch had woken up the next morning, sore and aching, it had been that
memory that drove him to the bathroom to toss up the pizza and soda lingering
in his stomach. Richard hadn’t said anything about it, though. He’d gotten up
and stood in the doorway, leering at him in disgust as he panted over the
porcelain bowl. After he was sure Mitch was done, he’d told him to take a
shower and had gone back into the room to clean up the mess left by his
friends.
Mitch didn’t move for several minutes, still afraid that the fear gripping his
stomach would make him sick again. This was hell. Absolute hell. He couldn’t
take another two months of this, nobody could; but they had, hadn’t they? Seven
other boys had been in this exact position and they had held themselves
together long enough to get home.
Pushing himself up, he stumbled to the shower and turned it on, sitting on the
floor under the cold spray, waiting for it to warm up. He wasn’t bleeding as
badly this time. Hardly at all, actually. If Richard held off on him, he’d be
fine by the end of the day. Well, not fine, he’d still be sore, but he could
handle sore, it was the tearing and ripping that made him weak in the knees
that he couldn’t handle. Of course, there was no guarantee that Richard would
lay off him, but maybe... maybe if it seemed like he wanted to, Mitch could
offer him something else. He could give him a hand-job, or he could... he could
give him a blow-job, even, he’d do it without threats and he’d try, he’d really
try.
He grabbed the shampoo and squeezed some out onto his hand, lathering his hair
and dragging his nails over his scalp in an effort to really clean it. He could
do this. He could do this. He could do this.
 
 
*****
 
 
Richard stood outside the bathroom, listening to the sounds coming from the
shower. The splashing of the water against the tile. The thumping of bottles
being picked up and put down. The occasional sob that broke through when the
kid couldn’t hold it back any longer. It was amazing how not a single one of
his boys had reacted the same way to the parties. Gregory had thrown violent
temper tantrums, hitting and breaking things. Duncan had gone into shocked
silence. Derick had flinched at every touch for two days. Mitchell tried to
hold himself together, but kept breaking down anyway.
It was so... interesting. He wondered how long it would take to break the
little brat completely. Another few weeks at least. Most of the boys gave up in
a matter of days. Realizing that they couldn’t get out and knowing what he
wanted, they capitulated, playing the part of willing lover to keep him happy
and themselves alive. However, his boys had always been little sluts, whores.
They really had been fucked so many times that they probably weren’t all that
phased by another cock, another trick. Mitchell was a virgin. Using his body to
get what he wanted wasn’t something he was used to.
“Shut up and pick up!”
Richard looked at his phone, raising his eyebrow.
“Shut up and pick up!”
Hm, Jessie usually didn’t call this early in the morning, especially not the
night after a party.
“Shut up and...”
“Jessie, to what do I owe this egregiously early pleasure?”
Jessie chuckled on the other end. “Ten o’clock is hardly egregiously early, but
I just wanted to check up on you, make sure everything was in order.”
“Everything’s fine, just like it always is.” Richard sat on the edge of his
desk, eyeing the door to the bathroom. “What are you really calling for?”
“You know me too well. I was just wondering what your plans were for the kid.”
Richard chuckled. “I’m going to take him home, Jessie, same as the others.”
The sound of a lighter flicking on the other end made him raise an eyebrow.
Jessie was a chain smoker, but he usually didn’t do it on the phone. “What
about Paul?”
“What about Paul?” The shower turned off and he stood up, stepping out the
front door and closed it. The kid didn’t need to hear this conversation.
“You know ‘what about Paul.’ I was doped out of my mind last night and even I
could tell that he’s getting attached to the kid.”
“Paul’s my business, Jessie. I’ll handle him when and how I want. If he gets
too attached, I’ll deal with it, same as I always do.”
There was silence, then, “Yeah, same as you’ve been doing since grade school,
right?”
He crooked a smile. “Right. Hey, Jessie, I was thinking that maybe Wednesday
you and Tanner could come over for a little fun. Maybe bring the kit.”
“The kit? What are you thinking?”
“Something in green, to bring out the kid’s eyes.”
Jessie coughed on a chuckle. “Yeah, whatever. See you Wednesday.”
“Bye, Jessie.”
He hung up the phone and looked back at his door thoughtfully. Yes, something
green.
 
 
*****
 
 
Richard hadn’t touched him in three days. He hadn’t done anything to him at all
except stare at him, which was creepy, but at least he wasn’t being used. Not
that he expected this reprieve to last. In those three days, Paul had only come
by once and that had been a very brief visit, to make sure that he was doing
okay and that he wasn’t bleeding or anymore bruised than he had been before. He
wasn’t.
“He’s out with Claudia, showing her a good time and all that.”
That was what Richard was said. Claudia was a girl that Paul was apparently
dating and Mitch didn’t know why that bothered him so much except that he kept
seeing Paul’s face, sometimes smiling at him when they watched movies,
sometimes gazing down at him in lust, and other times, downcast and resigned to
whatever Richard told him. Somehow, he couldn’t reconcile that person with
anyone who would go out and date a girl, much less one named Claudia.
Richard had said it was healthy, which meant it would take Paul’s mind off
Mitch and that had hurt, because it was true. Why worry about the dark little
secret, locked in a room of eternal hell when there was a bright eyed girl that
he could take everywhere and show off to anyone? It made him realize, not for
the first time, the absolute hopelessness of his situation. He could fantasize
about Paul coming to his senses and rescuing him all he wanted, but the odds of
that happening were higher than he could count.
Still, not even resignation could have prepared him for what happened when
Richard finally did touch him. He’d been gone all day, out with Tanner and
Jessie, or that was what he’d said and Mitch had been stuck in the room
watching television and occasionally trying to figure out the code on the door.
He hadn’t had much time for that lately, as Richard was almost always there.
He’d been watching the news when the door unlocked.   He quickly changed it to
Cartoon Network and cringed as when the program was Pokemon. Richard looked at
the screen and raised one eyebrow before shrugging. He had to know that wasn’t
what Mitch was watching, but apparently he wasn’t in the mood to argue about
it. Tanner came in holding a bag over his shoulder, eyeing Mitch hungrily and
Jessie stood behind him, with an equally disturbing, pleased look on his face.
Richard sat on the bed behind him, spreading his legs to straddle either side
of Mitch’s shoulders. “Hey, Mitchell-dear, we brought you a present.” Mitch
didn’t look back until his face was grabbed and forced around. “Don’t you want
to know what it is?” When he didn’t respond, Richard shrugged again and let go
of his jaw. “Well, then, I suppose it’ll have to be a surprise.”
Without warning, he moved his legs, putting them over Mitch’s shoulders and
wedging them between his arms and body, pinning Mitch with his back against the
bed. Instinctively, Mitch struggled. He didn’t know what it was they were
planning, but with Jessie and Tanner there it couldn’t be good.
I can’t wait till Richard let’s me really play with you, little boy. I’m going
to make you hurt so pretty.
Jessie moved forward and Mitch braced himself to kick, but the larger man was
ready and this time he wasn’t impeded by drugs. He caught Mitch’s feet and
forced his legs straight, sitting on them just bellow his knees. Mitch gave a
wordless cry as he realized that with his legs and back forced straight that
this, he could hardly move. Of course, that was probably the point.
Tanner sat down next to him, unzipping the bag. “It’ll go easier if he can’t
see.”
Mitch tried to move his head away when he saw Richard reaching for him, but
there really wasn’t anywhere he could go that Richard couldn’t follow. One hand
latched onto his forehead, the other under his chin and Richard forced his head
back and between his legs, so that the only thing Mitch could see was Richard’s
face and the ceiling. “Be good, Mitchell-dear, and this’ll be over in no time.”
“Richard...”
“Shhh.” Richard smiled down at him and his chest tightened in fear as he heard
the crinkle of a plastic bag opening and Tanner rummaging for something inside
it.
“What...” But Richard wouldn’t tell him ‘what,’ not if his sadistic smile was
anything to go by. “Please don’t. Whatever it is you’re going to do, I... just
please don’t?” Richard chuckle and Mitch fought the sob that was threatening to
come out of his chest. He couldn’t, however, fight the tears that he felt
trickling down his temples. What was it they didn’t want him to see?
Thin fingers unbuttoning his night shirt and opening it to reveal the smooth,
pale expanse of his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I did. I won’t do
it again. Just... just tell me and I’ll...”
“Be quiet. This isn’t anything you did, this is something I want and you’re
going to give it to me, right?”
The sob turned into a shriek and he bucked as he felt something cold touch his
left nipple. Jessie cursed and pressed his hands on Mitch’s thighs. Tanner
chuckled, “Calm down, Mitch, the less you move, the quicker I get this done.”
The cold came back and tightened on his nipple like a pair of tweezers pinching
it just to the point of painful. “I don’t understand, Richard...”
Richard moved his hand from Mitch’s chin to his mouth, covering it and holding
his jaw closed, “I said ‘sh,’ Mitchell-dear, if you were supposed to understand
I would have let you see.”
Mitch tried desperately to move anything, but the two men holding him down
didn’t budge and he could only sit there, crying silently and making muffled
please as Tanner did something to his right. There was clicking and a hissing
sound. Nearly a minute later, it stopped with another click and Tanner took a
deep breath, “All right, boys, hold him tight.”
Something hot and sharp touched his nipple and Mitch had just enough time to
remember something Richard had said, something about a piercing, before white
hot pain shot through his chest and made him convulse, screaming into Richard’s
hand. The pain quickly dulled to a hot throb, accompanied by an odd pressure in
his nipple, but he couldn’t hold back the sobs any more and the tears were
flowing freely.
Tanner’s slender fingers pet his shuddering abdomen, “Calm down, come on, the
worst part’s over.”
Worst part?! There was more? Of course there was more, Richard hadn’t let go of
him yet. He cried out as something was tugged out of his tender, raw nipple and
he felt something warm trickle down his chest. Fingers squeezed his nipple and
then something was being pushed into the hole, through it, sliding against the
torn tissue. Mitch whined and clenched his eyes shut against the cruel look of
satisfaction on Richard’s face. Then everything stopped and he clenched his
eyes tighter, because he didn’t dare hope it was over.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Let’s get this thing closed up and then you
can have a look.”
A few painful tugs and Tanner sighed happily, “There you go, Richard, tagged
and labeled.” Tagged. Labeled. Mitch’s stomach dropped at the implication.  
Someone flicked at the piercing and he gasped at the pain. “Did you want the
other, or...”
His eyes shot open and Mitch tried to scream “no” from behind the hand, even
though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. If Richard wanted his fucking cock
pierced, there was nothing he could do about it. Richard looked down at him,
head tilted to one side. “I think so.”
“He won’t be able to suck cock for a week, two if it swells up or gets
infected.”
Richard smiled, locking eyes with Mitch purposefully. “Than we’ll have to make
sure it doesn’t get infected. Besides, he’s good for other things.”
Mitch’s brain had locked up. He couldn’t process what they were saying, what
they were thinking about doing. It wasn’t his other nipple, because that
wouldn’t affect his ability to suck cock... would it? Was there some mysterious
link between left nipples and cock sucking that he didn’t know about?
Richard’s hand moved away from his mouth, but he really wasn’t sure what he was
going to say now. “You listening, Mitchell-dear?”
He couldn’t nod, because Richard was still holding his forehead, but managed a
choked, “yes,” despite his fear.
“I need you to stick out your tongue.”
His tongue...? Suddenly, he knew what they were thinking and he clenched his
jaw shut, his eyes wide in defiance and horror at the realization. Richard
frowned, “Don’t be stupid, I can make you open your mouth, baby, and I can make
it stay open. One way or another, this is going to happen. The only difference
is whether you piss me off in the process.”
Richard was right and he hated himself for having to admit that. They were
three grown men and he was one teenage boy. Reluctantly, he relaxed his jaw. It
was okay. He’d take it out when he got home, just like he would take out the
nipple ring and burn the stupid clothes and throw away the movies and anything
else Richard had bought for him.
He had time to see Richard smile before the hand on his forehead moved to cover
his eyes. “Stick out your tongue.”
Slowly, he did as he was told, trying to ignore the pathetic whimpers that kept
coming from his throat. He hated that he was so weak, that he couldn’t do
anything to stop this, that his only choices were to fight and make it more
painful, or do what he was told and maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
The plastic rustled again and he immediately drew his tongue back into his
mouth. “Mitchell-dear.” He sobbed and then stuck it back out.
Tanner dabbed something on his tongue that tasted funny and then like nothing
at all, because the spot had gone numb. “It’s just Oral-B. Now, I need you to
take deep breath and hold it.”
Despite his shaking, he managed to do as he was told. He felt Tanner straddle
his lap and thought something metal brushed against his lip and the next moment
the pain of something ripping through his tongue. Instinctively, he pulled his
tongue away, but metal clicked against his teeth and he stopped moving. It was
in his tongue.
Tanner clucked, “Come on, back out, Mitch, as far you can. We’re almost
finished.”
The needle was pulled the rest of the way through and Mitch gripped the blanket
hanging off the edge of the bed as Tanner forced a thicker bar into the fresh
wound. Mitch’s whole body was convulsing and he tried to work his legs free,
not to kick anyone, but because he wanted to brace his feet. Finally Tanner
moved away and Richard let go of him. He pulled his tongue into his mouth,
startled by the weight of the bar and little ball that rested against the
bottom of his mouth. It felt heavy.
As Richard unwound his legs from Mitch’s arms, Mitch pulled his own legs up,
curling into a ball. They were all staring at him, like they expected
something. He looked down and saw a little hoop in his nipple with a green ball
hanging off it. There was blood all over his chest and on Tanner’s hands and
Jessie took one of those slender fingers and kissed the tip of it, licking the
red from his lips afterwards. Oh, god, he was going to be sick.
His stomach heaved and Tanner looked over at him suddenly before moving away
from his boyfriend, his face set hard in agitation. “Take a deep breath through
your nose.” He did, because he was too terrified and sickened to disobey. “Now
another.” The nausea was started to recede. “Tilt you head back and keep
breathing.” His stomach settled itself, but he continued to sit with his head
back, breathing through his nose with his eyes closed.
Distantly, he realized that Richard was saying goodbye to Tanner and Jessie,
thanking them for their help and saying that he’d see them later. Jessie
chuckled and said, “You owe me, Richard Carter,” before shutting the door
behind him. Mitch choked on the fear of what that implied. He could barely
survive what Richard did to him. He didn’t even want to imagine what Jessie
would do.
Richard sat on the floor, straddling Mitch’s hips and looked down at him
hungrily. Mitch closed his eyes and kept his head tilted back, half afraid he’d
be sick and half relieved to have an excuse not to respond. “You look so
fucking sexy, Mitchell-dear.” Richard’s hand moved over his chest, pressing his
cold finger tips into the smooth skin. As the fingers brushed against the
freshly pierced nipple, Mitch jerked. It hurt, but it had also sent a shock of
something not entirely unlike pleasure from the top of his head to the tips of
toes, settling in his groin.
Groaning in disgust at his body’s enthusiastic reaction, Mitch tried to wriggle
out from under Richard, who moved to sit between Mitch’s legs and took Mitch’s
wrists in one of his hands, trapping them against the bed behind him while he
licked and bit the boy’s neck.
“Nn.” Mitch didn’t want it to feel good, he hated that his cock was already
half hard, but Richard was an experienced lover and for all that this was rape
to Mitch, it seemed to be about some deluded fantasy for Richard.
The tongue left a wet trail up the side of his neck to his ear and Richard’s
husky voice filled his head. “I’m going to let go, Mitchell-dear, and you’re
not going to move. You’re going to stay absolutely still until I tell you to do
otherwise. Clear?”
Mitch clenched his eyes shut and nodded tersely. Richard let go of his hands
and it took all his effort to clench his fists in the blankets to keep them
where they were. He wanted to fight off his attacker, his rapist, but if he
moved too much, he might be sick again. Hell, if he tried talk right now, he
might be sick.
Richard got up and went to the bathroom, returning shortly with a small wet
cloth that he used to gently wipe the blood off Mitch’s chest. The little hole
through Mitch’s nipple was still bleeding, but just slightly and Richard leaned
down, flicking his tongue over the tip of the forcibly hardened nub, chuckling
when Mitch jumped slightly at the stimulation.
His pajama bottoms came off, slipping over his hips with an ease that was
becoming sickeningly familiar and Richard set about cleaning the rest of him,
gently rubbing his leg where the blood had soaked through. “Mitchell-dear, sit
on the bed and lay back.”
Mitch nearly sobbed, but did as he was told, not wanting to be tied down again.
Richard pushed his knees apart, and Mitch felt his face turning bright red at
the close inspection of his most private regions. Somehow, it didn’t matter
than he’d had sex with this man, because that hadn’t been this... intimate.
Instinctively, he tried to draw his knees together, but Richard firmly pushed
them back apart. Mitch took a few deep, shaky breaths and managed to keep them
open, despite his desperate need for modesty. Richard drew the quickly cooling
cloth up Mitch’s thigh and over his ass, pushing it between his crack and
dragging it over his ass hole slowly and firmly before pulling it away and
replacing it with something else warm and wet and small that brushed
tentatively against the puckered entrance before pressing into it, massaging
the tightness with firm pressure. Richard’s tongue. Oh, dear god, Richard was
rimming him and it felt... it felt... He moaned, despite the pain that the
vibrations in his mouth caused his tongue. It felt good, incredibly good and
disgusting and wrong all at the same time.
Richard’s fingers pulled his ass cheeks further apart and Richard pushed his
tongue past the waning resistance Mitch’s ass. Mitch panted as Richard fucked
him with his tongue, soothing the tight entrance with slow, deliberate in-and-
out movements. Richard pulled away, wiping his mouth and spitting on his hand,
rubbing it over his cock before sitting up and positioning himself, slipping
almost effortlessly into Mitch’s carefully prepared body.
It hurt, god it hurt, but not as much as it had even three days ago. However,
despite the pain, Mitch could feel his erection throbbing obscenely between his
legs. Richard pushed his legs up and leaned over, fucking him. Mitch gripped
the covers tighter, feeling his finger nails biting into his palm through the
fabric and then Richard was still, and Mitch knew he was coming by the spread
of warmth deep inside him. Lazily, Richard reached between them, pulling Mitch
off.
When it was finally over, Mitch opened his eyes and instantly regretted it.
Richard was leering down at him, crooked smile on his face and his eyes
slightly dazed with the afterglow of sex. “You’re so fucking perfect, Mitchell-
dear.” He leaned forward, as if to kiss him, but thought better of it and
nuzzled his neck for a moment instead before pushing himself off the bed. “Get
up, time for a shower and I bought a new video game, we’ll order pizza tonight
and run pedestrians over.”
Mitch had no idea what Richard was talking about, but he pushed himself up off
the bed and followed the actor into the bathroom, trying to ignore the hands
that washed him, the fingers that carefully slipping inside his ass and cupping
his balls. Looking down, he eyed the small silver hoop through his nipple with
distaste. There was something hanging from it, but from this angle, he couldn’t
make out what. Not that it mattered.
Richard turned him around and scrubbed his back, continuing to massage him in a
way that reminded Mitch of a lover.
He didn’t feel like eating pizza.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Paul stomped his cigarette out and took the stairs two at a time. He hadn’t
been over to Richard’s for a week and, despite his best efforts not to admit it
to himself, he was worried about Mitch. He couldn’t clearly remember the party,
but Jessie had been there and that was never a good thing. When Richard had
called him that morning and said he needed someone to look after the kid for
the day, he’d readily agreed, relieved to have an excuse to indulge his
concern. He’d go in and Mitch would be the same as always and nothing would be
different and then he could just stop worrying.
Unlocking the door quietly, he slipped in and shut it behind him, locking it
and keying the security code into the pad next to the door. The sounds of Buffy
the Vampire Slayer filled the room and Paul smiled. At least, he smiled until
he saw Mitch. The kid was laying on his side on the bed, blankets pulled up
around him, staring blankly at the screen. He looked vaguely ill, kind of pale,
and where as he was usually enthusiastic about seeing Paul, he didn’t even
appear to want to look at the door.
What the hell had happened in the last week? “Hey, Mitch.”
Mitch looked at him for a moment and nodded slightly, before turning back to
the television and taking the remote out from under the covers, flicking it off
to leave the room in deafening silence. Something was wrong. “You feeling
okay?”
Mitch nodded again.
“You don’t look so good.”
Mitch shrugged.
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“You going to talk to me?”
“Where’ve you been?”
His voice was oddly slurred, like something was obstructing his speech. Paul
put down his bag and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Mitch, who
still refused to look up at him. “My agent thinks I haven’t been seen out
enough lately, so I was instructed to take a pretty girl on several, very
public dates.”
“Oh.” Mitch looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Did you have fun?”
Paul shrugged, “I guess. Claudia, that’s the girl, she’s nice, kind of bossy,
but she has this amazing accent. Thing is, we don’t really have anything in
common.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to
find myself a new trainer.”
“Trainer?”
Paul grinned at the show of curiosity. He always knew Mitch was feeling better
when he started asking questions. “She’s my personal trainer. Well, was my
personal trainer. I fired her so we could date and I really doubt I’ll be
rehiring her. Richard was right, it’s never a good idea to mix business and
pleasure.”
He saw Mitch cringe at the mention of his captor and Paul’s chest tightened.
“So, what have you been up to while I was away?”
Mitch sat half up and bit his lip for several second, thinking, before finally
sticking his tongue out. Paul’s throat closed as his eyes focused on the small
metal bar sticking out of Mitch’s tongue with little green balls on either end.
Almost as quickly as he had stuck it out, Mitch drew the tongue back in, but
Paul still couldn’t make himself breath. “Wha... Did you...”
The only problem was, that there wasn’t any question as to how it had happened
and it made Paul ill. Mitch hadn’t wanted anything that had happened in this
room and Paul knew he hadn’t wanted a piercing, either. So, that meant Richard
had... “Tanner.” He heard the defeat in his own voice as he said the name.
Tanner worked in a tattoo parlor as a body piercer and he’d done things for
Richard before, though never to one of his boys.
Paul put his head down on his knees when Mitch looked away, shame written in
the way his eyes skittered to the side nervously. What was wrong with Richard?
What was he thinking? Fifteen was too young to have a tongue ring. What the
hell was the kid supposed to say to his parents when he got home? ‘Hey, mom,
sorry I was missing for three months, but look what I’ve got?!’ God, but this
was getting out of hand.
He looked sideways at Mitch, taking in the boy’s downcast face. Now that he
really looked he could see faded bruises of Mitch’s face that could have been
made with fingers. They’d held him down and shoved a needle in his tongue and
he’d probably cried, because Paul imagined it hurt a great deal. He turned his
head away again and closed his eyes against the image.
Less than two months left and the kid could go home, he’d be safe. He ignored
the voice in his head that said, ‘live the rest of his life looking over his
shoulder.’ “You, um, you want to watch something?”
Mitch looked at him for a second and then shook his head. “Not really.”
Paul studied the boy’s face carefully, trying to suppress the sick feeling as
he took in the deadened eyes. After only one month, the kid was so drastically
different. Paul couldn’t reconcile this morose, lifeless child with the one
that he had seen in the club that night, laughing and smiling and being a
normal, defiant teenager. It was even harder to come to terms with the fact
that Paul had a part in that, however unwilling it had been.
“I brought you a game.” He unzipped his bag and pulled out a small case. “My
brother was going through his old Playstation games and I thought you might
like this.”
Mitch took it with only slight hesitation and looked at the game curiously. He
knew this one. This was Puzzlefighter, it was one of his favorites. He and
Cynthia used to play it all the time when Frank wasn’t hogging the television.
He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Paul was really trying to be nice to him and
the thing was that Mitch wasn’t mad at him for anything he’d done - it was what
he hadn’t done. So what if Paul had fucked him? He’d only done that because of
the drugs and Paul hadn’t so much as touched him inappropriately when he was
sober. Hell, even high it took Richard and Tanner coaxing him. He wasn’t even
mad that Paul hadn’t helped him, because he’d come to terms with the fact that
Paul was under Richard’s thumb, probably had been most of his life.
No, what he was mad about was that Paul had been gone for a week and hadn’t
bothered to really check up on him. Mitch thought he kind of liked Paul. Paul
was sweet and nice and he treated Mitch like a little brother, not a sex toy.
Having Paul come over even just every other day was what was keeping Mitch
sane, reminding him that he wasn’t just an object for Richard to use and it
hurt that when Mitch had needed that reminder the most, Paul had been out with
some slut, showing her a ‘good time.’
But then, who was he to get mad about that? Paul had a life outside of this
little room and maybe it was more jealousy than real anger. Besides, regardless
of what it was, there was no point dwelling on it. Paul was here, Paul wanted
to spend time with him.
Paul looked at him sideways, studying his expression, “Do you like it? I could
get something else, if you want.”
Mitch found himself grinning. “I’ll have you know I’ve kicked many an ass at
this game.”
“Is that a challenge? I’m no slouch at this, either.”
Mitch felt his heart leap into his throat for a second at the cocky grin on
Paul’s face. It was... warming, natural. It made him feel like he was sitting
in any other room with a normal friend, who was trying to make him feel better.
“Bring it on.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul heard Richard stumbling up the stairs before the door opened, but he
couldn’t bring himself to move from his place on the bed. They had spent the
whole day playing video games and talking. Mitch had even laughed on several
occasions when Paul had told him stories about things Richard and him had done
in school. At some point Mitch had laid down with his head in Paul’s lap and
fallen asleep and he’d stayed there, mouth slightly open, hands fisted tightly
in the blankets.
It seemed so wrong that someone so young should be put through so much.
Richard opened the door and Paul raised an eyebrow at his friend’s disorderly
appearance. His shirt was half untucked, his belt wasn’t done up properly, and
his hair was completely disheveled. “Peterson take you out again?”
Richard nodded and sat on the bed, putting his head on his knees. “Publicity.
He wanted me to meet a director that’s filming a movie he’s trying to get me
into and there was a party and I think I had sex with a woman in one of the
closets.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, I remember... really wide blue eyes, blonde hair, and... a uniform. Oh,
bloody hell, I got drunk and high and slept with a cocktail waitress. Peterson
is going to love that. Brilliant publicity stunt on my part.”
Paul chuckled softly, still stroking Mitch’s hair. “You’ll work it out in the
morning. You always do.”
Richard leaned forward over Mitch and kissed Paul on the mouth. Under his hand,
Paul felt Mitch’s neck tense. For some odd reason, knowing that Mitch was
watching, or at least consciously there, made Paul feel uneasy. He pulled away
from the kiss and Richard grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him back into
it. “Paul, I want to fuck you. I want to get the feel of that girl off me.”
Paul somehow managed to pull himself away from his friend. “Richard, not now.
In the morning, when you’ve sobered up... maybe then, but not right now.”
Richard scowled, but threw himself backwards onto his bed, mumbling something
unintelligible to himself. After several minutes, the mumbling died out and
gave way to deep snores and Paul relaxed. “You can stop pretending now, he’s
asleep.”
Slowly, Mitch raised himself up and looked at Paul with an unfathomable
expression. Though he said nothing, Paul didn’t need him to say anything, he
knew exactly what Mitch was thinking and he didn’t know the answer to that
himself. Richard was an ass. Richard used him when he wanted to and ignored him
the rest of the time. Richard was psychotic, but... Paul looked over at his
sleeping friend and his chest ached. He loved Richard, had since they’d first
met and there wasn’t anything in the world that would ever change that.
Looking back at Mitch, he forced a smile on his face. “Let’s get him to bed and
then we’ll go to sleep.”
Mitch stood from the bed, stretching. “I’m going to take a shower.” It didn’t
need to be said that he didn’t want to touch Richard, and apparently, Paul
understood that, because he didn’t complain as Mitch walked into the bathroom
and shut the door behind him. He turned on the water and stood under the hot
spray, letting it scald his skin. It was the only way he felt even remotely
clean anymore, like maybe he could burn Richard’s touch off him.
What he didn’t understand, however, was how Paul could like it. It had been
obvious before and even tonight when they’d kissed. Mitch had felt Paul’s cock
against his cheek, reacting to the press of Richard’s lips. Could it really
feel so different for Paul? Richard was still Richard; it was still the same
man. So how could the sex be different from one person to the next? Or did Paul
enjoy the pain? Did he get off on having something forced up inside of him?
Swallowing back the taste of bile in his throat, Mitch turned off the faucet
and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his pink skin and sitting on the
toilet lid numbly. There were people who enjoyed that sort of thing, like
Tanner, but Paul was as far from Tanner as any one person was likely to get.
The bathroom door opened and Paul stood in the doorway, leaning against the
frame expectantly. If Paul said anything, Mitch would lose his nerve, he just
knew it. Looking up, he pinned Paul with a stare. “Do you like it when he fucks
you?”
It sounded harsh, even to Mitch’s ears and he saw Paul winch. “Um, well, yes,
but...”
“How? Doesn’t it hurt?”
Paul hadn’t really been expecting this. He’d thought it would be a matter of
how could Paul like Richard, not how could Paul like sex. Although, if he
really thought about it, it wasn’t all that surprising. The kid had had a
pretty horrendous experience where anal sex was concerned, but surely he’d
messed around with other kids his age.
Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Paul stepped into the bathroom and
closed the door, trying to decide exactly how to go about this. “It hurts
sometimes, I suppose, but only a little - never so bad that I can’t enjoy it,
too.”
Mitch pulled his legs up, balancing his feet on the lid and wrapping the towel
around him completely. “Why does it hurt so much when he does it to me? Is it
because I’m smaller, because I don’t have enough experience? Could you... how
do you make it not hurt?”
Paul sat on the floor, mostly because his legs had started shaking. Why was
this so embarrassing? He’d talked sex with enough people and it had never
bothered him before and Mitch needed to know. He needed reassurance that when
this was over he could have sex and it wouldn’t always be like this. “It’s,
uh... it’s not so much about size or experience, though that does helps. It’s
more about trust. I trust Richard, so when he... you know, I can relax and just
let it happen. It’s like...” God, what was it like? “Didn’t you ever fool
around with any of your friends, or anything?”
Mitch looked quickly down at the floor and Paul felt his stomach drop out from
under him. Oh, please, no. “Mitch, how far had you gone before?” Please say
blowjobs, or handjobs, or at least heavy petting.
“I um… I’ve kind of made out, I guess, but it was only ever above the waist
stuff and we kept our shirts on.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing else?”
Mitch looked up sharply, resentment apparent in his tight features and Paul
gave up, sighing in resignation. By the time he was fifteen, Tanner was
clambering to get into his pants and Richard and him had exchanged a few
blowjobs, though they’d been awkward. He’d known since that first morning after
that Mitch had been a virgin, but virgin and completely inexperienced were two
very different things.
“Damn it!”
Mitch flinched and Paul held out his hands, palms up. “No! No, Mitch, I’m not
mad at you, I’m mad at Richard. I’m mad at myself. I’m not going to hurt you.”
When Richard had said that to him, Mitch had always tightened up, knowing that
it wasn’t true, knowing that Richard would indeed hurt him and in the worst
ways possible, but when Paul said it, it sounded sincere. Paul was relieved to
see Mitch relax some, if not entirely.
“Look, anal sex is about trust and it’s about wanting it. If you don’t want it,
if you don’t trust the person you’re with, then no amount of experience is
going to make it painless.”
“I don’t understand.”
Paul shrugged, “You will, one day. You’ll find someone that you really like and
that you really want to have sex with and the possibility of it hurting a
little really isn’t going to seem that bad.” He chuckled at Mitch’s skeptical
expression and pushed himself up. “Come on, let’s get some sleep while we still
can, Richard’ll wake up in a few hours and then you’ll be spending the whole
day helping me keep his head over a trash can.”
After several seconds, Mitch unwound himself from his perch and finished
toweling off, taking the pajama’s that Paul offered him. He didn’t think Paul
was lying to him, he just doubted that the same principle would apply to him.
He doubted that there would ever be a time when the memory of what Richard had
done to him didn’t overshadow any thoughts of pleasure, but Paul wasn’t going
to have all the answers for him. He’d have to wait until he got home and then
he’d get his parents to take him to a shrink and maybe in a few years, like ten
or twenty, he’d be able to have a normal relationship.
Paul slipping into the bed next to Richard and motioned for Mitch to lay down
next to him at the edge. When he laid down, Paul didn’t try to hold him or make
unnecessary contact and Mitch tried to ignore the small part of him that was
resentful of that.
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia imagined that Mitch would have stood out in this crowd - that it would
have been obvious he didn’t belong. Cynthia sat at the bar, looking out over
the club, scanning the people who were on the dance floor. She tried to picture
Mitch in a place like this, wearing those bondage pants and the little fishnet
shirt that he’d bought with his Christmas money the year before, but she just
couldn’t see it. Mitch was too shy for this. He’d always ducked away when
people gave him too much attention and this... she eyed the men as they ground
against each other, practically having sex in the middle of the club - there
was one particularly young looking boy who was pressed against an older man,
the top of his g-string showing against his pale ass as it hung half out his
pants - this wasn’t like Mitch at all.
Turning away from the dance floor, she saw another man stumbling out of the
bathroom, a large yellow rubber ring on one finger. She’d seen a lot of those
rings and she wasn’t really sure what they were, but whatever it was, they were
selling them, individually wrapped for two dollars each out of a large jar on
the bar. Of course, they were also selling condoms, as well, for fifty cents,
not that anyone was bothering with those.
With a steely glare at the jar of condoms in front of her, she reached her hand
in and pulled a few out, looking at them curiously. The wrappers were all
different colors and apparently, so were the rubbers. They were also different
flavors. Banana and peach and chocolate and...
“You won’t be needing those.”
She looked up at the bartender, who was looking at her, one eyebrow raised.
Blushing, but determined, she held them up and smiled at him. “And why not?”
His mouth twitched in a barely held back smile. “Well, let’s start with this is
a gay bar and you’re a woman.”
“I could be lesbian.”
“Then you really wouldn’t need a condom.”
Damn, he had a point. Putting them down, she smirked. “You caught me, then. I’m
a straight girl in a gay bar. Now what are you going to do about it?”
He laughed and put a glass down in front of her. “Buy you a drink. What’ll you
have?”
Oh, thank god, she really needed some alcohol to steel her nerves. “Strawberry
daiquiri and make it strong.”
“How about a Virgin Cola and I put in a cherry?”
She pulled the fake ID out of her back pocket and held it up defiantly. “I have
ID.”
He didn’t even look at it. “So did that Mitchell Dearing kid and I nearly lost
my job over that one. You want anything stronger, you’ll have to do more than
flash a card at me to prove your age.”
At the mention of Mitch’s name, she had to refrain from squealing like the over
zealous school girl that she was. Forcing a sighing, she rolled her eyes and
put the ID back in her bag. “I prefer Sprite.”
He pulled out a can and poured it into the glass before throwing in a cherry.
“A Sprite you shall have. Now, tell me your name.”
Cynthia swirled the straw around the glass for a minute before answering,
“Cyn.”
“You’re real name.”
She sipped the drink. “For a Sprite you get Cyn. You want anything more, you’ll
have to buy me a real drink.”
“Blackmail,” the bartender said, as he pulled out a small bottle of Vodka and
poured a sizeable portion into the Sprite, “will get you everywhere.”
She grinned at him, stirring the drink with her straw. “I’m Cynthia Redding and
you are,” she squinted at the name tag, “Brenda?”
“It’s Chris. I couldn’t find my name tag tonight, so I borrowed one.”
“Too bad, Brenda kind of suits you.” With a wink, she sipped the drink and
immediately started coughing as the sharp tag of alcohol burned her throat.
This was much stronger than the stuff her mother had made for her cocktail
party last year.
“Not a big drinker, I see.”
“Haven’t had any in a long time, is all.” It was the truth, mostly. “So, you
mentioned Mitchell Dearing?”
“Yeah, I said I almost got fired over it. Why?”
“Let’s say it turns me on.” When she got a raised eyebrow, she reverted to the
cover story she’d worked out before coming. Considering her age, and especially
his reluctance to believe it, she didn’t know whether he’d buy that she went to
the university, but it was better than nothing. “I’m a psych major, I want to
go into the investigative field when I graduate, maybe do profiling or
something. So, things like this really interest me, you know?”
Chris chuckled and leaned over the bar, setting an empty glass between them and
lowering his voice. “It was me and Brad tending the bar that night. He had ID
and I wasn’t really sure about his age, but I couldn’t find anything wrong with
it, so I served him a few drinks. Brad gave him one too.”
“What kind?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, but it fit her story
anyway. There really was something about people in what they drank.
“A hurricane and a strawberry daiquiris, can’t really say how many. You know,
we’d seen him here once or twice before, but he never really drank anything and
he’d certainly never gone on the dance floor.”
“He went on the dance floor!?” The police reports had said that he was seen
with people, but she didn’t think that meant dancing. She glanced back at the
floor and the men grinding against each other lewdly.
Chris chuckled, “Sure did. Got himself a hotty, too. Guy that comes in here
once every few months, hits on the guys, but never really goes home with
anyone. Mitchell was on the floor with him and his friend, they danced some and
then he went back to their table, when I looked again the kid wasn’t there and
they were all talking like nothing was wrong, didn’t even leave for another
hour.”
Cynthia bit her lip. It was like the police reports had said it. He’d been seen
with them, but if they’d stayed after he left then he must have gone off alone.
Where would he have gone, though? “What time was it when you noticed he was
gone?”
“Chris, stop chatting up the dikes and get back to work!”
He cursed and looked at her apologetically. “Sorry about that, duty calls.” He
started to turn away, but stopped short and looked back at her pointedly. “He
was on the dance floor at about twelve thirty and by the time I noticed he
wasn’t at the table it was after one, maybe even one thirty. I get off at
three. If you’re still here I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
She felt herself blush, but nodded and went back to watched the men and boys
around the club. It was only twelve, but she waited and sipped her spiked
Sprite and ate her cherry. By three, she’d had two more glasses, none of which
she had paid for and her head was feeling a little light. Chris told the
manager that she was with him and the man let her stay, even if he didn’t
really look happy about it.
When they finally made to leave, her legs had some trouble supporting her and
Chris had to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her up. “Come on, out to my
car and I’ll drive you home. Where do you live?”
She put her head on his shoulder and was overwhelmed with the smell of cologne.
“You smell good.” She put her nose in his shirt and he chuckled, sitting her in
his car and pulled her skirt down over her thighs.
“Come on, Cyn, where do you live?”
“Cyn, Mitch used to call me that sometimes. He thought he was being funny.” Her
stomach rolled. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chris bent her over the pavement, just outside of his car and she vomited,
sprayed the parking lot with Vodka and pretzels. It tasted just as bad coming
up as it had going down. “You still with me?”
She nodded. “I’m living with my dad at¼ Pegasus, near the financial district.
Sixth and South Flower.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pricey place.”
“I’m a pricey girl.” It would have sounded more convincing if she hadn’t had to
lean down to throw up again just then. Something was wrong, she was doing
something she shouldn’t be, but she was too dizzy and she couldn’t clear her
head enough to think. “Take me home.” She put her head on her knees and felt
herself slip into sleep.
 
 
*****
 
 
It was too bright and it was too warm and she felt like her head was full of
heavy little stones that kept bouncing around the delicate interior at the
slightest noise. A toilet flushed and she reached to pull her pillow over her
head, only the moment her hands closed around the soft velvety blanket next to
her, she knew it wasn’t her bed at all. She sat up and looked around the little
bedroom in horror. There were dirty clothes on the floor, though thank god she
still had hers on. The window was covered with a shabby blanket.
The door to the bedroom was open and she involuntarily grabbed the sheets,
pulling them over herself. Chris was standing in the hall, a soft smile on his
face. “Hey, you’re awake. You kind of passed out in my car and I wasn’t sure
they’d let me walk you to your door. Actually, I didn’t even know which door
was yours, so I brought you here.”
She looked around again and saw a grungy Depeche Mode poster on one of the
walls, Erasure over the bed. “This is your place?”
Oh, god, she was only fifteen and she was in another man’s apartment. What if
he expected payment or something for having helped her? Chris nodded and set a
glass of something bright yellow on the table next to her. “It’ll help.”
Slowly, she sipped it, instantly recognizing the taste of Lime Gatorade.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Look, I know that ID’s fake, but I’d be willing to bet you’re
seventeen, so how about I take you home for today, you sleep off that hangover
and then call me and I’ll take you on a date. I’m off Thursday.” She hesitated
and he raised a blond eyebrow, “You can question me all you want about your
friend.”
She started at his comment on Mitch having been her friend, but then had a very
vague memory of sitting his car, the acrid taste of vomit in her mouth, saying
that Mitch used to call her Cyn. “Fine. You take me home now and on Thursday
you can take me out on a proper date. Like to the movies and out for dinner or
something.” It was the least she could do, considering he’d actually gotten her
home safely and hadn’t done anything untoward to her unconscious person.
“That’s settled then. There’s a bathroom just past the door. Get yourself
cleaned up and I’ll drive you home. Oh!” He went to his dresser and pulled out
some clothes, throwing them on the bed next to her. Cynthia held them up,
jogging shorts and a worn Puffin shirt. She almost considered turning them
down, but her father would probably throw just as much of a fit if she came
home dressed in a wrinkled miniskirt and tube top as he would if she showed up
in men’s night clothes. Scratch that, if she came home in what she was wearing
now, he’d not only lock her in her room for all eternity, but he’d most likely
hunt down whoever took her home and kill them.
“Thank you, that’s very nice.”
“You can give them back on Thursday.”
She nodded and went to wash her face and get herself together. Everything was
so surreal. Just the other night, she’d been thinking to herself that the idea
of Mitch having simply gone home with someone was absurd. He was a smart boy,
perfectly capable of taking care of himself and making semi-rational decisions
that didn’t involve getting into a stranger’s car, but wasn’t that exactly what
she had done and she always thought of herself as a smart, capable, rational
girl?
Maybe it was as simple as Mitch had gone home with the wrong person. Maybe he
had stepped out of the bar at one in the morning and a stranger with nice eyes
had told him he’d get him home safe. Maybe he had been too drunk to think it
through, or maybe he had done drugs. She didn’t think he would have, but more
than half the men there had been hopped up on something, so maybe none of that
was as farfetched as she thought it was and if that was the case... well, if
that were true Mitch could have gone home with anyone and maybe she couldn’t
get any further than the police had.
Running a brush through the tangled mess of her hair, she looked at the
stranger staring at her in the mirror. The stranger with bright blue hair
pulled into tangled, messy pigtails, smeared eyeliner and red stained lips,
wearing a tiny purple shirt that barely covered her breasts and a little skirt
that she couldn’t sit in without showing the tops of her black panties. Well,
that was the last of that. Maybe she needed to fit in and maybe she didn’t, but
one thing was very clear: she had gotten lucky last night. It had been nothing
more then that, just sheer luck that she had gone home with someone who hadn’t
taken advantage of her. She wasn’t giving up, but she wasn’t going to be stupid
about this anymore.
Of course, that was assuming her father ever let her out of the house again.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Mitch had been staring at the television for almost half an hour, but he
couldn’t really remember what anyone had said, or what the episode was about,
all he knew was that there had been a lot of singing, which was pretty silly,
even for an episode of Buffy. Paul was watching, though, and he was laughing,
so maybe Mitch would watch it again later.
It had been almost three weeks since Mitch had asked Paul that stupid, stupid
question and he’d regretted it a thousand times since then, especially the day
he realized that he understood exactly what Paul was talking about.   Richard
had gotten to where he threw a party every weekend and two days ago, at the
last party, Mitch had finally stopped fighting. It just wasn’t worth it. He
didn’t know how many times he had kicked or hit someone and it always made it
worse.
That evening, when Richard had passed around the drugs, he’d taken them
complacently; when Mickey had said to ride him, Mitch hadn’t even waited to be
moved into place; when Richard told him to suck, he’d tried his best to deep
throat. It had hurt, the whole fucking thing had hurt so badly that he could
feel parts of himself dying and then, suddenly, Paul had kissed him. He’d been
on his knees, Tanner fucking him from behind and Paul had taken his face in his
large hands, his thumbs pressing into his cheeks just under his eyes, and
kissed him, slowly and softly. In that small moment, what Tanner had been doing
hadn’t hurt as much and ever since then Mitch had known, with the kind of
certainty that ached, that was what Paul was talking about when he’d said the
need outweighed the pain.
The only problem was, Paul hadn’t fucked him. Not once since that first night
with Jessie. After finding out about the tongue ring, Paul’d had a screaming
row with Richard, in which he’d said, quite loudly outside the front door of
the small flat, “I don’t fucking care what you think, Richard. I am not fucking
him again! I don’t agree with what you’re doing and I won’t be a part of the
sick mind games that you’re playing with him and if you don’t stop pushing the
subject, I will not only stop fucking him, but I’ll stop going to your little
parties all together!” There had been a few more minutes of heated whispering
afterwards, but Richard had apparently backed down, because even though Paul
had done the drugs, Richard hadn’t let Tanner pressure him into sex that night,
or any night since.
The bed jerked as Paul laughed. Paul had a very nice laugh, it was deep and
carefree and honest. It was everything that Richard’s cold and calculated
laughs weren’t. Sometimes, when Paul was laughing really hard, his eyes would
close, which was a shame, because Paul had really nice eyes.
“You okay?”
Mitch felt his face heat up and he quickly looked back at the screen. “Yeah,
I’m fine.”
Paul put a hand on his forehead. “You sure? You look kind of flushed.”
Mitch pulled back quickly and his face got warmer when he heard Richard chuckle
from where he sat at his computer. “I swear, Paul, sometimes you are so stupid
it hurts.”
Paul looked at Richard, taking his hand away from Mitch’s face. “What are you
talking about?”
Richard smirked. “Nothing, just watching the kiddie porn.”
Paul shook his head and ruffled Mitch’s hair. “Don’t mind him, Mitch, Richie’s
just anxious because the cocktail waitress is still late.”
“Shut it, Paulie.”
It had been like this for the past two days and Mitch’s confusion built. Paul
was annoyed at Richard about the cocktail waitress and he kept making comments
about her being late, an emphasis put on late that Mitch didn’t quite
understandand then Richard would get annoyed back and then they’d stop talking
again. Mitch didn’t need a keen sense of awareness to know that this kind of
thing hadn’t happened before, because Richard had told him. He’d pinned him to
the bed and tied his hands over his head and between nuzzling his neck and
biting at his nipple ring, Richard had said that Paul had never been tetchy
like this before, that he’d always been comforting when things went wrong.
A part of Mitch resented Paul for acting out, because Mitch was the one who
invariably suffered for it, but another part of him understood that Richard
didn’t need a reason to spank him, or fuck him. Things would probably be going
exactly as they were even without this. Well, maybe there would be less
talking.
“Why don’t you just call her? I’m getting sick and tired of listening to your
phone constantly ringing because you don’t have the balls to pick it up and
hear what the girl has to say.”
Richard pouted at the offensive mobile on his desk. “If she would just leave a
message telling me what the outcome of the stupid test was, I wouldn’t be
so...”
The phone started ringing. For every person that Richard gave his cell phone
number to, he designated a special ring, usually them saying something.
However, this waitress hadn’t been assigned anything and as a result, the
annoying default tone rang shrilly through the little room every time she
called. Richard stared at it, his face paling.
“For the love of god, Richard!” Paul stood up from the bed, crossing the room
and picked up the phone before Richard could stop him. “Hello? No, this is Paul
Zalinsky.” He nodded, rubbing his temple. “Yes. Yes, I’m serious. Yeah, well,
we’re friends off-set and he’s... busy right now, so I thought... Of course. I
didn’t think you were, but Richard’s... right, yes, I agree with you one
hundred percent, he is a complete ass for not calling you back and for making
his friends pick up his phone. You know, to be honest, he didn’t ask me to, but
I got sick and tired of watching him act like a moron about this whole thing.”
Richard stood up and tried to reach for the phone, but Paul managed to keep it
away from him, a strained smile on his face. “Right. I’ll let him know. Bye.”
There was a resounding beep as Paul hung up with her and Richard backed off.
Paul threw the phone at him and he barely caught it, holding it protectively to
his chest while Paul seethed, “Congratulations, you’re going to be a father.”
He grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door violently behind him and
leaving Richard standing in the middle of the room, still clutching his cell
phone.
Mitch stared at Richard in shock. He was going to be a father? That was what
the waitress had been calling to tell him, but what did that have to do with
her being... oh! His eyebrows raised in understanding. She was late, as in,
that kind of late.
“Fuck!” Richard wrenched himself out of his shock and threw his phone on his
desk, before chasing out the door after Paul. His friend was standing at the
bottom of the steps, smoking a cigarette, his breath coming out in puffs.
“Paul...”
Paul held up his hand and inhaled deeply, rolling the smoke around his mouth
for a moment before exhaling. “Don’t talk to me, Richard, I’m not in the mood.”
“Come on...”
“No, I’m going to finish this and then I’m going out.”
Out? Paul never went out without him. “Where?”
“I don’t know!” Paul stomped out the fag and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“You know what, I do know. I’m going to Fizzy’s and I’m going to find some
drunk girl to have sex with. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll be fifteen and I
can knock her up, then I’ll be just like you!”
What the hell? Paul never yelled at him. Paul never stood up to him. Paul
rarely had any kind of thought that wasn’t put there by Richard himself. What
the bloody hell was going on and how was he going to stop it? “Paul, you’re not
making any sense. The waitress was twenty-three.”
Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Paul gave a frustrated cry,
storming off and Richard got the feeling that following him wasn’t going to
help. Picking the crushed cigarette butt off the ground, he held it between his
fingers and sighed. Just two months ago, he’d had Paul wrapped around his
finger. He’d even convinced him to stop smoking just by saying it would please
him. Now Paul was leaving his used cigarettes on Richard’s front porch.
He never should have gotten drunk at that party. He knew better than that, but
ever since he’d brought home that kid, things with Paul had been spiraling out
of his control and he’d needed to take his mind off it. It was all that stupid
kid’s fault. Turning around, he glared at the door and dropped the cigarette,
storming up the steps two at a time. He’d show him exactly who was in control.
Richard threw open the door and felt his chest seized up for a moment at what
he saw. Mitchell was sitting at his desk holding the cell phone tightly in his
shaking hands. He’d left it behind in his rush to follow Paul. The kid dropped
the phone the moment he saw Richard, but it was far too late for that and
Richard walked forward, forcing calm into his steps as he backhanded the kid
across the face, feeling some of the tension leave him as Mitchell flew from
the chair and hit the floor, hard.
“Little fucker, it’s locked.” He stepped around the chair and nudged the prone
figure with his toe. “You think I’m that stupid?”
“Stupid enough to knock up some waitress.” It had barely been mumbled, so low
he’d almost missed it.
Kneeling down, he fisted his hand into the kid’s hair and yanked his head up.
“Say that again.”
Defiance flashed across his face and Richard felt the familiar pangs of lust
building in his groin. “I said that you’re stupid enough to knock up a
waitress.”
Richard felt warm spit hit his face and he smiled. “You know, I’d begun to
think you were getting smarter. You’d stopped fighting, you weren’t acting out,
you’d even stopped trying to figure out the code for the door,” he laughed as
Mitch paled, “that’s right, I know all about that. Now, though, I’m thinking
you need a little reminder of your place.”
He pulled Mitch’s hair hard, yanking him up onto his feet and shoved him
forward, watching with amusement as the kid stumbled and fell onto the bed in a
heap, his whole body shaking. Picking the phone up off the floor, he keyed in
the code. He’d forgotten it in the room only one other time and that had been
with Gregory. Thankfully, his phone took a very long time to make international
calls and he’d only just gotten downstairs when he’d realized it was missing.
Since then, he’d put a password on it, just in case.
The boy’s chest heaved a little as he sobbed silently into the bed and Richard
put the receiver next to Mitchell’s mouth, whispering in his ear, “Say Jessie.”
Mitchell shook his head, his hands clenching desperately into the quilt.
“Either you say it, Mitchell-dear, or I do.” He didn’t even need to say that
the kid wouldn’t like what happened if he had to do it.
“J... Jessie.”
Richard heard the automated response on the other end, “Did you say, ‘Jessie?’”
He pulled the phone away and said, “Yes,” listening to it ring with self-
satisfaction. Everything was under control. Jessie would come over tonight and
they’d punish Mitch together, then tomorrow, he’d call his agent and clear up
this mess with that girl. Paul was going to take a little more work, but he’d
deal with that like he always did.
“Jessie speaking.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul threw the car into park and got out, handing his keys to the valet with a
little more aggression than he intended. He wasn’t mad at the valet, he was mad
at Richard and his stupid games. God, what was he thinking? What if the girl
got angry and tried to say it had been rape? What if there was some kind of
investigation into his past? All it took was someone going over his credit
cards to realize that he had gone to Humps and then it would be all over the
news and the police would link it to the night Mitch went missing and then they
were all screwed.
Sitting at the bar, he ordered a beer and put his head down, groaning inwardly.
Just one wrong word and they were all up the creek without the proverbial
paddle.
“Are you okay?”
He tilted his head and looked at the girl he had sat next to. She was young,
with bright blue stripes at the front of her otherwise too blonde hair, which
was pulled back and slicked into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She had
a round face, fair skin and large, chocolate brown eyes. There was something
oddly familiar about her, something that made him a little uneasy, but he
chalked it up to her probably looking like one of the many girls he’d seen
Richard flirt with at parties.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just really need a drink.”
The bartender put a beer down and he grabbed it, taking a deep gulp and sighing
as the sensation of having his first real drink in weeks flooded through him.
She giggled and he looked back at her, taking in her full measure. She was
wearing a dark grey dress that hung to her knees and fit loosely over her
slight figure. Every time she moved, the silky fabric swayed her body, cupping
against her breasts or sliding over her delicate hips.
She was just the kind of girl he needed right then. She’d make Richard all
sorts of jealous, but why didn’t that make him feel any better? He sat up
straight and turned to face her. “You want anything to drink.”
Raised her glass, she shook it just enough to make the ice rattle inside. “I’m
fine thanks.”
“I meant a real drink.” He motioned to the can of Sprite.
She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t drink, but I’ll be out of a Sprite in a few
minutes.”
Didn’t drink? Fizzy’s was most well known for their unusual mixed drinks and
exotic beers. He couldn’t imagine why someone who didn’t drink would be in a
place like this. Still, she was cute and she seemed interested in him, at
least, she did when she wasn’t looking around at everyone else. “If I’m going
to have the privilege of buying you a drink, do you think I could get your
name?”
“Cynthia”
Something was tugging at his mind, but he pushed it away, because she was
smiling at him and she had a lovely smile. “Cynthia, may I inquire as to what
you are doing in Fizzy’s, seeing as you don’t drink?”
“I’m a friend of one of the bartenders. He said that he wanted to show me a
real club and insisted that I come with him tonight.”
“Which bartender?”
“The one that spit in your drink.” He choked a little and she laughed, “I’m
kidding! He’s on the other side of the room. I was distracting him too much. It
is a nice place, though, much better than Humps.”
Humps, maybe that was where he had seen her. Not that it mattered. If she was
hanging out at Humps, it meant she was lesbian and it also meant that he was
barking up the entirely wrong tree. As if sensing what he was thinking, she
shook her head. “I’m straight. I just like watching all the pretty boys on the
dance floor. It’s better than porn.”
“Really?” Something about a girl mentioning porn made a certain part of him
stir and he shifted a little in the seat. “So, you go there often?”
Her attention was focused solely on him, now. “Actually, I just started going
recently, when I turned eighteen. What about you?” He stopped in mid-drink and
she continued to smile slyly. “Everyone else that I’ve told about Humps has
immediately asked me what it’s like. People that go to places like this, don’t
often go to places like that and they seem to be dead curious about it.”
He nodded, setting down his bottle. “Okay, you caught me. I have been to Humps.
I have a friend who’s gay and on occasion, he likes to...” He saw movement out
of the corner of his eye and turned to see a bartender waving at Cynthia,
motioning for her to go to him. “Your friend?”
She nodded and stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Paul kept sipping his beer, watching her skirt move over her body as she walked
to the other end of the bar and leaned over, listening to something the
bartender was telling her. Paul looked a little closer and his heart dropped to
his feet. That was the same bartender that worked at Humps. Had he been working
there the same night they took Mitch? He couldn’t remember.
Cynthia rolled her eyes and threw a rude finger gesture at the man before
heading back over and Paul. “Sorry about that.”
“What was he saying?”
He’s gay, I’ve seen him with tons of men.
Stay away from him, that was one of the men last seen with Mitchell Dearing.
Keep him distracted while I phone the police.
“He said you’re the actor Paul Zalinsky.”
Fuck! Paul stared at her open mouthed and the amused smile melted off her face
into open shock. “Oh, my god, you are! You’re Paul Za…!”
He put a hand over her mouth, mindless of the fact that he was smearing her
lipstick all over his hand. “Sh!” God, now he knew how Richard felt. “Okay,
okay, yes, I am.”
She pulled away and grinned at him. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She picked up her can of Sprite and tipped the last of the contents into
her glass, sipping it with deliberate slowness. She’d just set it down when
something flicked across her face, like when someone remembers something that
they’ve been trying to puzzle out for a long time. “Hey, your friend wouldn’t
be Richard Carter, would it?”
He stared at her, gobsmacked. How the hell had she known that? “It is, isn’t
it? Richard Carter’s gay and you go to Hu…”
He covered her mouth again and tried to give her a warning look, but it must
have looked more desperate than anything else, because she pushed his hand away
and leaned closer, completely oblivious of his panic. “Look, the night that
Mitchell Dearing disappeared, he was seen dancing with someone that looked like
Richard Carter, but it was him, wasn’t it and you were with him.”
Oh god, Cynthia, as in Mitch’s friend Cynthia, the one that he’d seen on the
news! How could he not have recognized her? The blue hair should have been a
dead giveaway. He should never have gone out. That was the rule, wasn’t it?
Don’t go clubbing again until after Richard took the boy home. That way they
couldn’t be found and questioned. Why was he so abysmally stupid?
“I have to go.”
He stood up to leave, but she grabbed his arm. “Wait, please, do you remember
seeing him? Do you remember who he left with, or did he leave alone?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not supposed to...” Backup story, Richard had
a backup story, what was it? Oh, right! “Look, if my agent finds out I was
anywhere near Humps, he’ll throw a fit and Richard is seriously famous, it can
not get out that he goes to gay bars.”
“You’re famous, too.”
Paul was too surprised to do anything more than say, “What?”
She licked her lips a little and shrugged, letting go of his arm. “You said
that Richard was seriously famous. So are you. When the bartender said that you
were, well, you, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, what would a famous actor like
you be doing in a place like Fizzy’s and why would you be talking to someone
like me?”
Paul felt his mouth turning up in a smile. “I really do have to go. I could get
in a lot of trouble, but I really don’t remember anything about your friend, I
was too drunk to remember half the night.”
Cynthia nodded and looked at the floor. “Right, um, give me your hand.” He held
out his right hand and she took a pen out of her purse, writing on it. “That’s
my number. If you remember anything, call me?”
He nodded and she smiled at him. Her face was bright pink and he couldn’t help
but think that she was quite pretty. “I’ll do that.” Before she could say
anything else, he turned around and left, trying to ignore the renewed guilt
eating at his insides.
 
 
*****
 
 
“Richard!”
Mitch shuddered bodily from where he sat on the bed. Just the sound of Jessie’s
voice made him feel cold inside. It had been hours since Richard had called
Jessie and asked him to come over to help him punish Mitch. He’d been loud
about it too, saying suggestive things, like Jessie could do that thing he
liked to do. Mitch had almost been sick with the anticipation several times
already.
Jessie set his bag down, stripping his thick coat off and looked at Mitch, a
sickening smile on his face, “I’ve heard someone’s been a bad little boy.”
Mitch pulled the tongue ring between his teeth and listened to it clinking
inside his mouth. It was a nervous habit he’d developed only days after getting
it. When Paul was around, he tried to suppress the urge, because Paul seemed to
get agitated by it, and not at Mitch, but at Richard. The mere reminder that
his best friend had done something like that was enough to make him moody with
the actor for the rest of the day and when Paul got moody, Richard got pissed
and when Richard got pissed, he took it out on Mitch.
As if sensing what he was thinking, Richard walked over and pet his cheek just
a little harder then necessary. “He’s not a bad boy. It’s just that sometimes
he forgets not to bite the hand that feeds him. Now, Mitchell-dear, get onto
your hands and knees and face me. Don’t look back at Jessie.”
Mitch took a deep shuddering breath and moved to comply. His chest was
painfully tight. He knew he wasn’t going to like what was coming. Were they
going to try doing him at the same time again, or was it something else?
Richard had made an offhanded comment about a tattoo the other day and Mitch
seized up with fear. He’d thought the nipple ring was an offhanded comment as
well and look where that had got him. Richard grabbed his arms and pulled him
forward onto his elbows. The only thing that kept his from jerking away was the
knowledge that he couldn’t really do anything to stop them and it could be
worse. It could always be worse.
Jessie chuckled, “He’s so cute, Richard, how are you ever going to let him go?”
A hand reached under him and untied the string on his pants, pulling them over
his hips and down his thighs.
Richard tipped Mitch’s face up, leaned down to kiss him and swirled his tongue
around Mitch’s, flicking the tongue ring before pulling away. “Maybe I won’t.”
Mitch fought back a whimper at the suggestion that he might never go home.
Everyone kept telling him three months was the longest, it was the only thing
that kept him going, but what if Richard didn’t let him go? What if he decided
that he liked torturing him too much?
The squelching sound of lubricant being squeezed out of a tub made him jump,
but he quickly relaxed into the bed. Sex was painful and humiliating, but at
least it wasn’t permanent. He expected to be taken hard and fast. Jessie often
liked to go once to take the edge off so that he could spend an hour or two
torturing Mitch with things like nipple clamps that sent little electric shocks
through him, or rubber tubes that could be inserted into the head of his penis.
Sometimes, though, Mitch wondered if that weren’t better. At least he didn’t
get off on the torture.
Instead of the blunt head of a penis, though, he felt a thick finger press into
him and would have looked back in surprise if Richard hadn’t grabbed his face,
stopping the movement. “I said, don’t look back. In fact,” Mitch felt familiar
disgust as Richard unzipped his trousers with his free hand and guided Mitch’s
face down, “keep yourself busy with this.”
If he didn’t think Richard would kill him for it, he’d have bitten the thing
off long before now. As it was, the taste of Richard’s cock was just as
familiar as the disgust that came with it and he knew that Richard would indeed
kill him if he even thought that Mitch intended to bite down. The head of
Richard’s cock slipped past his lips and over his tongue, nudging the back of
his throat. “Swallow.”
Mitch opened his throat, obeying the order despite the fact his mind was miles
away. He would go home, it didn’t matter what Richard said to the contrary,
because Mitch had learned a lot about Richard and one of the actor’s favorite
past times was making people squirm, making them feel as if they had no control
over their lives, because that meant Richard was somehow in control and that
was what he wanted. So, he’d go home and he’d sleep in his own bed and he’d
never leave again, not even to go to school. His mother would fix him sausage
and eggs and he’d never eat muffins again, because that was all that Richard
ever brought him for breakfast.
A second finger pushed in next to the first and Mitch was jolted from his
thoughts by the sensation. He’d never realized exactly how big Jessie’s hands
were.   The fingers felt alien, like they weren’t shaped for what they were
doing and he squirmed a little under the assault. What the hell? Jessie never
bothered with more than one and mostly not even that.
Jessie chuckled behind him, putting a hand on his thigh to hold him still. If
Mitch could have turned around and glared, he would have, but Richard was
holding his head down in his lap, so he closed his eyes instead, because
glaring at someone’s pubic hair was pointless.
“He’s so tight, Richard, you sure you’ve been fucking him?”
Richard moaned as he thrust his hips forward. “Every god damned day. I don’t
think I’ll ever be able to go back to whores after this.”
Mitch’s face heated up and he squeezed his eyes tighter as a third finger
worked into him. God, what was he trying to do? Why couldn’t he just fuck him
and get it over with like every other time? When the fourth finger pressed into
him, he couldn’t hold back the muffled groan of discomfort.
Richard clenched his fist in Mitch’s hair and pulled his head up, drawing it
off his cock and forward so that he could whisper into Mitch’s ear. “Do you
know what he’s going to do, Mitchell-dear? Do you have any clue?”
The fingers twisted and Mitch clenched his jaw, choking on the sounds he didn’t
want to be making. “F... fuck me?” He couldn’t imagine what else...
“He’s going to fist you.” Mitch forgot to breathe. “He’s going to stick his
entire hand up your ass and he’s going to fuck you with it.”
The fingers pushed deeper inside and Mitch clenched his jaw as his sphincter
stretched to accommodate the width of Jessie’s knuckles. Jessie was almost
twice his size, his hands were huge. Was it even physically possible? The thumb
of Jessie’s hand pushed in next to the palm and Mitch felt something start to
tear.
“P...” He stopped himself from begging by biting his tongue. It wouldn’t do any
good, it never did any good. Jessie’s hand must have been well oiled, because
as soon as the knuckle had breeched him, the rest of it slid in, leaving Mitch
feeling too full and too stretched. He whimpered, looking down to avoid the
lust and satisfaction in Richard’s eyes.
Mitch clenched his hands tighter into the covers, aware of the fabric giving
under his untrimmed nails. Jessie sighed happily, “Oh, Mitch, you have no idea.
Do you know the last time he let me do this to one of his boys?”
Richard chuckled above him, his hand still tight in Mitch’s hair, though he
wasn’t particularly using it to direct him anywhere. “Derick, the business
major. He cried like a baby.” Now, he did use his grip, forcing Mitch to look
up at him. “What about you, Mitchell-dear? Are you going to cry, beg, scream? I
kind of like it when they scream.”
Jessie’s hand moved inside him and Mitch could feel the tears slipping down his
face at the sensation. It was wrong, it felt wrong. The hand clenched inside
him, closing into a fist and slowly started to move, twisting. He had to stop
breathing to keep from screaming, not because it hurt, but because someone’s
entire hand was in his ass and that didn’t seem... right, or possible.
Richard pushed him down again, towards his cock, which was standing tall and
eager and still wet with his saliva. “If you’ve nothing to say, then you can
put your mouth to use elsewhere.”
Mitch gave a small cry as the fist moved deeper inside him, his anus stretching
around the girth of Jessie’s muscled forearm. Richard’s cock popped past his
opened mouth and he welcomed it, because at least it muffled his pathetic
whimpering. Jessie pulled the arm back and pushed it in, moaning. “He’s so
fucking tight. It’s practically sucking my arm in.”
The fist moved forward sharply and Mitch did scream, just a little. Richard
sighed, “Do that again.”
Jessie was actually fucking him with his fist now, moving it back and forth
with obscene ease and Mitch was screaming, having forgotten his silent vow not
to. It hurt and it was wrong and please, please, please let it end. Richard
gripped his hair tighter and a moment later his taste buds were assailed by the
bitter taste of cum.
Jessie pulled his fist out and replaced it with his cock. The tender tissue of
Mitch’s ass wailed at the contact and he might have struggled, except that it
was over quickly. He curled in on himself, too sore to even roll over onto his
side.
The room went silent, save the panting of the two men and Mitch’s own shuddered
breaths. He’d never, ever touch the phone again. He didn’t care if Richard flat
out told him the password, he still wouldn’t go near it, not if this was the
punishment. He was so caught up in his thoughts that when Richard’s cell
suddenly went off, it was enough to make his sit up and jerkily crawl back into
his corner, ignoring the searing pain in his backside.
“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
Richard sighed, “Bloody Paul. Horrible timing.”
Jessie chuckled, “Could be worse, he could have called a few minutes ago,” and
grabbed a shirt from the floor, using it to wipe off his hand. Mitch felt his
stomach heave, oh god, there was a blood and some kind of mucus film all over
it.
“Pick up. Pick u...”
“Hey, Paul.”
“Hey.” Richard frowned into the receiver and eyed the two still sitting on the
bed. Mitch was shaking so badly he was afraid the kid might be sick on his bed
and he was bleeding on the bloody sheets again. Damnit! At least the other boys
had had the sense to keep their ruddy mess off his bed linens.
 
He shook his head and tucked himself into his trousers before zipping them up
and stepping outside into the chill. He hated winter. At least it didn’t snow.
Paul sounded upset, concerned and a little depressed and with the way he’d been
acting lately... well, there was no telling what that meant. “What’s wrong?”
There was a long silence. “I went clubbing at Fizzy’s.”
Damnit, he really was depressed. Paul tended to make an ass of himself around
women, which generally meant that he stayed the hell away from clubs. If he’d
bothered to go to one, it could only mean one thing - he was trying to punish
himself. “How did it go?”
“It went... okay. I met a girl. She was nice. I didn’t shove my foot in my
mouth.”
Richard chuckled into the phone and leaned against his door, ignoring the cold
air against his exposed chest. There was no mistaking the slur in Paul’s voice
that said he was butt ass drunk. “Did you get a name?”
“Cynthia and she gave me her number.”
“Why didn’t you take her home?”
“...I don’t know.”
Shaking his head, Richard dug the heals of his feet into the back of his pants.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at... hold on.” There was a moment of silence and then the sound of Paul
asking someone where he was. “I’m at the SeaDevil’s Tavern.”
SeaDevil’s Tavern? Where the bloody hell was that? “Are you still in Los
Angeles?” There was a long moment of silence that stretched on for too long
until Richard finally said, “If you’re nodding, I can’t see you.”
“Oh, right, yes, I’m still in Los Angeles.”
“Right, then, call that girl and tell her you’re too drunk to drive home. See
if she’ll give you a ride and then see if you can get laid, because I think you
need it.”
“Fuck you too, Richard.”
“Call me if she says no.”
Paul hung up the phone without another word and Richard closed his, looking
down at it thoughtfully. He probably should have gone to help him...
“Aren’t you afraid the paparazzi will climb the fence and take photos of you
baring your washboard abs to the world?”
Startled, Richard looked up to see little his sister, Camilla standing at the
bottom of the steps to his apartment, looking up at him with amusement. The two
of them had never gotten along, not since she had been five and a teenaged
Richard had tied her to a chair and made her watch him rip the heads off all
her dolls. If she was there now, it wasn’t because she wanted to be. “What are
you doing here, Millie?”
She shrugged and leaned against the railing. “Mom’s worried about you. She said
to come tell you dinner’s ready and that you should eat with the family once in
a while instead of consuming mass amounts of take-out garbage.”
Shoving his phone into his back pocket, he waved her off dismissively. “I’ve
got company. I’ll eat dinner with you tomorrow.”
“They know that. He’s invited, too. It’s that Jessie guy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t like him much, but mom thinks he’s fantastic because he has a good job
and he dresses nice.”
He turned to go back into his room, but Camilla took a step up and he stopped.
“What are you doing?”
She smiled brightly. “Coming with you. You’ve lived in that room for five years
now and I’ve never even seen the inside of it. I’m curious to know how my big
brother lives.”
“No. Tell mom I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“She’d be happier if you came tonight.”
“Too bad.”
Something in his sister’s smile stopped him from leaving. The little bitch was
planning something, he just knew it. “You know, mom thinks you’re hiding
something.” She brushed her dark brown hair behind her ears and pulled the
sleeves of her shirt over her hands. “She worries about it constantly, saying
she hopes it isn’t drugs, or some disease you picked up from the kinds of trash
girls that throw themselves at you actor types. Of course, I know better; if
anything, you’ve picked up something from one of the boys you drag home. Isn’t
that right?”
Richard felt his face trying to twist into a sneer and schooled his features
into neutrality. It wouldn’t do any good to let her know she’d gotten to him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t. You were probably too high to remember. I’m just saying
mom would be happy if you had dinner with us tonight.” Without another word,
she turned around and walked back to the house, a happy sway in her hips.
***** Chapter 9 *****
With a low growl of frustration, Richard stormed into his room, slamming the
door shut and kicked the wall, “Fucking CUNT!”
He clenched his fists and took several deep breathes. Out of the corner of his
eye, he could see Jessie still sitting naked on the bed, his back to the wall
and Mitchell on top of him, riding his cock like a champion whore. Well, except
for the pathetic little whimpering noises that were clearly more pain than
pleasure. Jessie leaned to the side so that he could see Richard. “Millie’s at
it again, huh?”
Sitting at his desk, Richard continued counting. “She wants me to have dinner
with my parents tonight.”
Jessie let go of Mitchell’s head in favor of gripping the kid’s slim hips and
using them to deepen the thrusts. “So, tell her no.” His eyes rolled into his
head,   “Unh, yeah, just like that. Ride me hard, kid.”
Richard waited a few minutes, until the sounds of Jessie cumming died down.
“She knows about the boys... and the drugs.”
For several seconds the only noise was that of Mitchell’s hitched breathing.
Finally, Jessie pushed the kid off his lap and gave Richard his full attention.
“She knows?”
Richard nodded. “I don’t think she’s seen exactly who, but she said she knew I
was bringing boy’s up here and she said I was too high to remember.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah, so go wash up, we’re going to dinner before my dear sister outs me to my
parents.”
Mitch didn’t move from where he was laying on the bed. Millie, who was Millie
and how did she know that Richard was bringing boys up there? Vaguely, he
remembered Paul saying something about Richard’s little sister, Camilla. That
must be who it was. Jessie got up from the bed and Mitch bit back a cry as the
mattress moved under him. It felt like his insides were shredded, every little
movement caused sharp pain and he wondered if they hadn’t done serious damage
this time.
While they went into the bathroom to clean up, Mitch curled up on the bed,
pulling the blankets over himself protectively. Jessie had said they were going
to fuck him until sunrise, over and over. Silently, he thanked Camilla for her
timely interruption. It wasn’t just his body he could feel breaking, it was
himself. If he had to survive another month of this...
The covers were wrenched back and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Open your mouth.”
He obeyed Richard’s command, and felt fingers push a pill into his mouth and
clamp shut around it. “Swallow.”
He worked it into the back of his throat and swallowed, ignoring the bitter
taste it left. He knew that taste. These were the same drugs that Richard had
used the night he’d taken him from Humps. Not that it mattered, because if he
were in a drug induced sleep, it meant he didn’t have to worry about
nightmares. Richard’s finger probed his mouth for a second and then the actor
let him fall back to the bed. He didn’t even care anymore, he just wanted to
sleep.
Richard watched Mitchell shaking. This was getting to be a problem. He was the
kind of man that liked to be in control and lately things were swinging wildly
away from him - first Paul, then that cocktail waitress bitch, and now Camilla.
He didn’t know if he could handle Mitch on top of everything else. Of course,
Mitch was one of the few things he had control over at the moment, but still...
“You ready?”
Jessie was pulling his belt on and Richard nodded. He’d handled his parents for
years. If he went over, made a big show of things, and talked about how hectic
his life was, his mother wouldn’t ask him to come over again for another two or
three months. Camilla was another problem, one he wasn’t sure how to deal with,
but he’d figure it out, he always did.
 
 
*****
 
 
Dinner had been nice. His mother had fixed roast beef and mashed potatoes,
she’d even brought out the fine china. Now came the talking.
“So, Wayne, what have you been up to?”
He gave her his most exhausted smile. “I’ve been working really hard, mom.
Peterson has me running around to all sorts of functions and meeting new
people. I hardly get time to stop and sleep.”
She tisked and reached over to brush his hair out of his face. “My poor baby,
you should take a break.”
His father scoffed. “Right, just last week you were saying that you hoped
Peterson would introduce him to a nice girl.”
“A mother can hope.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t you worry about me.
I’m just hoping that I’ll have grandchildren some day, but you’re young.”
Richard stopped breathing as an idea struck him. He couldn’t be sure it would
work, but...
Camilla pushed a piece of poundcake around her plate. “He’s not that young.”
Richard caught Jessie glaring at Camilla for a moment before he got himself
under control. His mother looked over at Camilla, admonishing her, “Now,
Millie, be nice. I know that twenty-five may seem absolutely ancient to you,
but it’s hardly too old to get married and have children.”
“Of course not, but you’d think he’d have brought someone home by now.” She
paused, looking at Richard with a raised eyebrow before continuing. “Of course,
I’m sure he’s just been too busy to date.”
“No, I haven’t.” He said nothing else, but stood up, nodding at Jessie to
follow him. “Mom, I should get to sleep, I’ve got a long day ahead of me.
Millie, don’t forget to do your homework like a good little girl.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but quickly smiled before her parents saw.
Richard ruffled her hair and then gave his mother and father a hug before
leaving. Tomorrow, he would talk to his agent. He’d give him the little slut’s
number and let him deal with her, then he’d call Paul and let him know what was
going on. If everything worked the way he wanted it to, this whole mess could
turn to his advantage.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul groaned. His head hurt and he thought he might be sick if he made any
sudden movements. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light. Where
the hell was he? The room he was staring at was about half the size of his,
with lavender walls and a picture of David Bowie above a little white desk.
Sitting up, he fought the nausea as he continued his survey. It looked like a
five-year-old’s room. There was a white dresser that matched the desk and had a
run of pink flowers painted up the front. The ceiling was spattered with glow-
in-the-dark twinkle stars and moons.
Looking over with growing dread, he took in the naked form of a girl laying
next to him, with bright blue and blonde hair and a slight figure. She was on
her back and he could see the swell of good sized breasts under the thin
blankets. Thank god. For a moment there he’d been afraid he’d gone home with a
toddler. Of course, that was ridiculous, even drunk he had more sense than
that, but still... he looked around the room again and shuddered.
Slipping out of the bed, he opened the door and looked around, trying to
determine which way the bathroom was. The room opened into a little hallway
with a door directly across and another at the end. Shit.
“Paul?” He looked back, startled by the soft, decidedly young voice coming from
the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“I... I have to pee.”
She giggled and he was surprised to note that while very childish, it did
sounds... nice. There was something much more soothing about it than Richard’s
deep throated chuckles. “It’s at the end of the hall.”
Nodding, he closed the door behind him. He’d just made it into the bathroom
when his memories of the previous night caught up with him. Oh, holy god, that
was Mitch’s friend in there, Cynthia. He locked the door and sat on the floor,
putting his head on his knees. He’d gone home with Mitch’s friend. Opening his
eyes, he looked down at his naked form. He’d probably slept with Mitch’s
friend. God, he hoped Mitch hung out with older classmates.
He stood up and splashed water on his face. What had he been thinking? That’s
right, he hadn’t been thinking, he’d been doing what Richard told him to. A
knock on the door startled him and he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his
waist before answering.
Cynthia had put on a pair of large lose fitting pants and a t-shirt and was
holding a bundle of trousers and shirt in her arms. She looked even smaller in
the baggy clothes. “I thought you might want to get dressed.” She thrust the
bundle at him and he smiled gratefully. “I was going to make breakfast. I’m not
a good cook, but I can do scrambled eggs, or we’ve got cereal and soy-milk.”
“Eggs sound good.”
“Right.” She turned around to leave and then stopped, looking over her
shoulder. “Feel free to take a shower. My dad’s gone on a business trip for the
next few days, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”
She turned the corner and he shut the door again, looking around the bathroom
and trying to get his surroundings. He was going to kill Richard. This was
absurd. She lived with her father for Christ’s sake. Although, maybe this
wasn’t as bad as he though. If she was Mitch’s age, shouldn’t she be in school?
If she’d been allowed to drop out, maybe she really was older.
By the time he’d finished his shower, he felt much better. She had to be at
least seventeen with breasts like that and her not being in school only added
to his conviction. Of course, there was the fact that she was Mitch’s friend
and that was bound to complicate things. He couldn’t very well get into any
kind of relationship with her, not when he was always out with Richard and the
others, or at Richard’s apartment taking care of his captive... who happened to
be her missing school mate. God, but this was all becoming unnecessarily
complicated.
Come to that, didn’t she live in Temple City? What the bloody hell was she
doing in Los Angeles? Getting dressed, he headed across the sparsely furnished
living room and into the little kitchen. Cynthia was leaning over the stove,
stirring a small skillet full of eggs. With a bright smile, she motioned to the
little bar in front of her. “Have a seat, I should be done in a minute.”
Paul sat down and watched her with interest. It was cute the way she bit her
lip when she was scraping the slightly burn eggs off the bottom of the skillet.
Strange, the first time Richard had cooked for him, he had done the same thing
and it was all Paul could do not to ravage him on the counter top. They’d been
thirteen and Paul was staying over at his house for a few weeks during the
summer. That summer was the first in a lot of things. It was the first time
he’d really kissed, it was the first time he’d wanked in front of another boy,
it was the first time he’d had fantasies about another boy. Richard had always
been so good at convincing him to do things.
“What are you thinking about?” Cynthia had her head tilted curiously and Paul
chuckled to himself. Mitch sometimes had that exact same expression.
“Nothing, I was just trying to remember exactly how I ended up here.”
Her smile faltered, “Oh.”
Damn it, he always did that. “No, not like that. Look, I have a knack for
sticking my foot in my mouth with women, so just... well, take it for what it
is, huh? I was really drunk last night and I called Richard and he said to call
you and get laid and I can’t even remember exactly what happened. Not that I’m
saying it would be so bad if anything did, but... damn.”
Gradually, her stoic expression broke into laughter and she took the skillet
off the little stove and set it on a folded hand cloth. It was pretty badly
burnt - bits of black flakes mixed in it and she cursed under her breath before
moved it to the sink. “So, how does cereal sound?”
“I’ve got a better idea. What time is it?”
She looked at the oven clock. “Eleven.”
“Is there a cafe anywhere nearby?”
“On every street corner.”
Standing up, he motioned to her room. “Then go get dressed and it’ll be my
treat.”
 
 
*****
 
 
They spent over an hour in the cafe and then went walking in slightly chilled
air – better then yesterday, but windy. Cynthia was energetic and full of life,
talking non-stop about school and her friends. It might have seemed selfish,
because she didn’t ask any questions about him, but it was actually nice to be
around someone who was so open and honest.
“There was one time earlier this semester when Mitch yelled at the Principle.
See, I had gotten into trouble, because I was covering for him. He’d stayed up
late the night before to go out and he was tired and he wanted to take a nap in
the janitor’s closet. Well, it came out that I had lied and I got a three day
suspension, where he only got a week’s detention.”
Paul chuckled at the imagine of Mitch curled up in a closet and stopped at a
street side coffee vender, “What do you want?”
“Hm, hot chocolate. So, Mitch decides that wasn’t fair, because why should I
get a worse punishment, when he was the one actually ditching class. From what
Mark told me, they could hear the screaming clear across the school and by the
end of it, Mitch was suspended for a week, but he said that was okay, because
at least he was in more trouble than I was. Of course, he parents weren’t quite
as thrilled. His father grounded him for a month, but it only stuck for a few
days. Mitch’s mom is so lenient with him. He’s her baby.”
The knife of guilt in his gut twisted. “Really? So, you know his parents pretty
well?”
She nodded, blowing on her warm drink. “Yeah, mine separated when I was really
young and my mom never had a lot of time for me, so Mitch’s parents went out of
their way to watch over me. We’ve been friends forever.”
“Forever?”
“Well, since pre-school, anyway.” Sitting on the top of a bench, she brushed a
strand of blue hair behind her ears. “Our first day of class, one of the boys
picked on Mitch and made him cry so I decked him. It was the first in a long
string of offenses I was destined to commit while protecting Mitch’s delicate
emotions.”
Paul chuckled uncomfortably. He liked hearing about Mitch from someone else, he
liked the image he got when he thought of the kid as a normal teenage boy and
not just a victim, but god was it awkward. “You know, I really am sorry that I
don’t remember anything.”
She shrugged, “You were drunk. Besides, Richard’s your friend and what if he
were doing something illegal that night? I’m betting you wouldn’t want him to
get caught for it. Just if you remember anything important, like who Mitch
might have gone home with, you’ll tell me, right?”
“Of course. In fact,” he pulled out his cell phone. A few moments later, he
handed it to her. “Okay, hit the green button, then say something into the
phone, and hit the green button again.”
“Why?”
“It’s something Richard started a few years ago. When we program a number into
our phone, we always program a personal ring using the person’s voice. It makes
it easier to know who’s calling.”
“Really?” She looked at the phone dubiously. “What does Richard’s say?”
“Get your lazy ass up.” He blushed, “He has this really bad habit of calling
when I’m asleep.”
Cynthia bit her lip and then quickly pressing the button on the phone, holding
it to her mouth, catching his eye while she spoke. “So, this makes us friends,
right?” She ended the recording and handed him the phone, her eyebrows raised
in question.
He smiled at her as he put his cell into his back pocket. “Yeah, this makes us
friends.”
She stood up and twined her arm with Paul’s. “How do you feel about hedges?”
“Hedges?”
“There are some interestingly shaped ones around the bend over there. If you
squint, one of them looks remarkably like a penis.”
 
 
*****
 
 
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up!”
Bloody hell. Where was he? Oh, right, home. He’d gotten home late that
afternoon and laid down for a quick nap.
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up!”
Light streaked in past a crack in the heavy curtains and Paul looked at his
clock, groaning. It was twelve in the afternoon, he must have slept clear
through the night. Brilliant. “Paul, buddy, get your la...”
He snatched the phone up and flipped it open. “I’m up, I’m up!”
Richard chuckled. “Finally, I’ve called you three times today.”
Strange, he never slept through his phone. “What do you need?”
“I wanted to take you out.”
Paul sat up, his heart hammering in his chest. “Out? Like clubbing?”
“No, I want to take you out on a date.”
A date. Richard didn’t do dates. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Paul, love, we’ve been friends for how long now? Let me take you out.”
He chewed his lip, feeling like an angst-ridden teenager. Why did things with
Richard always have to be so confusing? “Fine. I’ll be over in a few and we can
hang out until you’re ready.”
“Good.”
He stared at the phone in disbelief. This could not be happening. Richard
hadn’t just asked him out on a date and he wasn’t going over every article of
clothing he owned, trying to discern what he should wear for it. Hadn’t he
decided just yesterday that he was sick and tired of this roller coaster of
emotions that Richard put him through and that as soon as Mitch got home, he
was going to get out, no matter how much it hurt him?
Fuck it.
Half an hour later, he was washed, dressed and on his way to Richard’s. This
was ridiculous. He was a grown man, his heart shouldn’t be pounding at the
thought that he was going on a date with his best friend of almost twenty
years. By the time he drove through the gate and back to Richard’s apartment,
he had finally managed to get a hold of himself. Just because Richard said
date, didn’t mean it was a real date. In fact, with Richard, things were ass
backwards more often than not.
Foregoing a cigarette, he charged up the steps and knocked on the door, only to
be greeted with a kiss by a half naked Richard. Damn, there went his calm
again. Richard never kissed him first thing, because, overall, Richard wasn’t
much for kissing and especially not out in plain view of anyone who happened to
be walking past. He pulled back and looked behind him nervously, but there
wasn’t anyone there, not even the gardeners. “What’s gotten into you?”
Richard shrugged and smiled. “Nothing, I missed you yesterday, now get inside
before you freeze. So, seeing as you didn’t call me back Thursday night, I can
assume she picked you up. Did you get laid?”
“I’m not really sure. I think so.” It felt like he had gotten laid, but she
hadn’t really said yes or no to that question and he still couldn’t remember
the entire night, just up until she picked him up at the bar. “Where’s Mitch?”
“Sleeping.”
He stepped past Richard into the room and sure enough, there was Mitch,
sprawled naked on the bed, one pillow under his head and two more tucked
protectively against his body. That was strange, Mitch never slept in the nude
and he didn’t he sleep above the covers. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s drugged. Let’s sit outside.”
Paul looked at Mitch uncomfortably. His mouth was open, but he seemed to be
breathing all right, his eyelids didn’t so much as flutter. Richard grabbed his
hand and walked him out, shutting the door behind him. “Richard, what’s going
on? First you ask me on a date, then I get here and you’re... really
affectionate, and you’re drugging him. You’ve never drugged your boys in your
flat before.”
Richard sat on the steps, motioning for Paul to join him. “It’s Millie, Paul,
she’s gotten curious and if we’re going to be out, I can’t risk that she’ll
come up here and find him.”
“Millie?” What the bloody hell did Camilla have to do with anything? She
generally stayed as far away from Richard and his friends as humanly possible.
His listened with growing horror as Richard told him about seeing her outside
his flat, about dinner, and about her constant little jibes that threatened to
give him away to his parents, culminating in, “So, I’ve come up with a
solution.”
“What?”
“I’m coming out.” Richard took the cigarette that Paul had started to light out
of his hand and stepped on it. “Don’t do that, Paul, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Wait, you said you’re coming out? As in you’re going to tell everyone that
you’re gay?”
Richard nodded, “It’s the only way to stop the rutting little cunt in her
tracks.”
Paul frowned, “Richard, don’t call your sister a cunt.”
“Bitch, then.”
“Richard.”
“Whatever. Look, the point of this is, coming out isn’t enough, there’s the
matter of the little waitress I managed to knock up.” Paul nodded, because that
really was a dilemma. Coming out to the media could garner him points,
especially recently, but he’d come under fire when they found out about her.
“So, I’ve decided to tell them about her, too.”
“Come again?”
“I’m going to tell the paparazzi and all the rest of those media sucking
vultures that I’m gay, that I’ve had a life partner for the last five years,
and that my partner and I have decided we want a child. So, we hired a girl
that I met at a party. She was a cocktail waitress, needed the money, she
seemed nice enough and she agreed to be my little human incubator.”
Paul couldn’t help staring. That was the most ridiculous plan he’d ever heard!
It would never work. For one, the media wouldn’t believe it because they’d
never seen Richard out with any men, let alone one in particular and second,
the girl would never go along with it.
“Peterson already talked to her, offered to hire her an attorney to look over
the contracts and everything. She’ll be getting good money for going along with
it and so far she’s agreed. She’s got a week to sign the papers.”
“Richard, I hate to sound pessimistic, but you don’t want children, you never
have. The closest thing to a kid you’ve ever had is currently naked in your bed
and he drives you nuts. Not to mention you can hardly raise children in that
little garage apartment. You’d have to get a real apartment - with more then
just one bedroom.”
“House actually.” Richard wrapped his arm around Paul’s shoulders. “I’ve
already picked out the perfect one. It’s a two story home out in the middle of
wine country. I think it’s about time to get out from under my parents and,
besides, with Millie snooping around, it’s the most logical thing to do. A baby
is just a good excuse at this point.”
“But...”
“Don’t worry, I’m not keeping it. She’s also getting paid to conveniently back
out of the deal at the last minute and, like the gentleman I am, I’ll let her.
I’ll only have to see the kid once or twice a month and on holidays. Besides
that, I’ll be on movie sets a lot of the time. It’s just good publicity.”
That was that and really he had thought of everything, hadn’t he? It would
probably work, except there was still the matter of a life partner. Was he
going to pay someone for that, as well? It would have to be someone he’d been
seen with on several occasions, someone the media knew as associated with him
and there were only a few those. There were Mickey and Louis, but as much as
Richard liked their style, he probably couldn’t handle their shit for very
long. There was a guy named Frank who appeared in a lot of their movies, but he
wasn’t part of the group and bringing someone new in, especially considering
the circumstances, would be tricky. He always kept Tanner and Jessie away from
the media, which left...
Paul looked over at Richard, his eyes widening as the full scope of why he’d
been invited over sunk in.
“What do you say, Paul? We’ve known each other since we were six and I do find
you dead sexy. Not to mention the public will have a field day with the two of
us. The fangirls alone.” Richard’s face dropped into a serious expression.
“Honestly, Paul, you’re the only one I trust to do this. I care about you and I
know you care about me and I don’t mean like friends or even brothers.” He
reached over and trailed a finger down Paul’s jaw. “I’m not just saying this to
save my ass, Paul. If you say no, I’ll find someone else, but whoever I end up
with I’m shackled to for a few years at least and I’d rather it be you.”
With every word, Paul felt himself being dragged deeper into it. Short of
Richard saying that he loved him, they were all the things Paul had ever wished
for Richard to say to him. All of a sudden, everything that had been happening
the past two months didn’t matter. The other night didn’t matter. Who cared if
he’d shagged some girl on the side? Richard had told him to, anyway.
Of course, there was always, “My parents...”
“Love you very much and, just like mine, they’ll be happy for you. For us. I
know your father doesn’t like me, but that’s mostly because I’m always dragging
you off without telling him where I’m taking his son. So now I’ll tell him. I’m
madly in love with you and I’ve been stealing you away since we were sixteen,
because I can’t bare to be separated from you.”
There they were again, those words, spoken in that particular tone and it
didn’t matter that Richard was an actor and an expert at manipulating people
into doing what he wanted, because it was possibly the best Paul was every
going to get and he could live with that.
“Alright.”
Richard kissed him again, like a master giving his obedient dog a reward for
doing the right thing. Not that it mattered.
 
 
*****
 
 
Richard’s parents took the news surprisingly well. Paul had always thought of
Richard’s mother as the kind that would break down into tears over something
like this, but then, as Paul had always known, Richard was good with people and
he’d made a show of acting as if he’d disappointed them and they’d rushed to
reassure him that he hadn’t.
“Wayne, sweetie, you’ve never disappointed me or your father. We wouldn’t have
chosen acting for you, but you’ve done so well at it and you seem to enjoy it.
If Paul makes you happy, that’s all we ever wanted for you.”
She’d looked at his father and he’d snapped out of whatever trance he’d been
in. “Yes, yes, of course. In fact, it’s a relief.” He’d sat up and forcing a
smile onto his face. “I was beginning to think you were impotent.”
“Charles!” Paul couldn’t help but laugh at her indignant tone. Richard’s father
really did have a knack for saying the crudest things sometimes.
“What? It’s true, he’s twenty-five. If he’s not gay, he must have some kind of
erectile dysfunction.”
Camilla had sat there the entire time, her face a stone as she took it in. Paul
had felt a little sorry for her, actually, but she had brought this on herself.
Paul’s parents had been another matter. Paul was an only child and his mother
had, indeed broken down into tears and his father had turned absolutely red in
the face, no matter how much Richard tried to explain the situation away.
Eventually, Paul had told Richard to leave and had handled it himself.
“Father, I love him. We’ve been together for nearly ten years. That makes this
one of the longest courtships known to man.”
“I don’t like him.”
“But, I do and this is my life and, mom, please stop crying.”
She sniffled and dabbed her nose with a white handkerchief. God, at least he’d
always known where he got his acting skills. “I just... I always wanted
grandchildren and now...” she trailed off and started crying again.
“Mom, you’ll have grandchildren. Richard and I are telling you this because
we’ve hired a surrogate.”
His father blustered. “You what?!”
“A surrogate, father. We wanted to wait until we were sure that everything had
gone right, but she’s nearly two months along now and it looks healthy.”
“Is it... yours?”
She looked so damned hopeful that he couldn’t dash her dreams completely.
Besides, they were already telling one lie, might as well tell another. “No,
it’s Richard’s, but we’re already thinking about having another. God knows I
wouldn’t want anyone else to go through the horrors of being an only child.”
His father scoffed, but his face wasn’t nearly as red. “I assume you’ll be
moving in together, then?”
“Richard’s found a place. It’s a house out near Santa Maria, set way back,
though. It has actual acreage. It’s quiet and I think it’ll be good for...
well, for what we want. He’s taking me to see it today.”
“You haven’t even seen it?”
Paul stood up defensively. “I trust Richard, dad. If he says the place is good,
then I’m sure it is. Besides, it’s not like we can’t just sell it if I don’t
like it. Between the two of us we have several million dollars.”
He choked on the amount even as he said it. With Richard living in that little
garage apartment and him staying with his parents, it had never seemed like
they’d had all that much money, but in truth, both of them were millionaires
just on their own. “Look, I have to go. We wanted to get out there and home
before dinner. I’ll come over and we’ll talk about it later, yeah?”
His mother nodded and his father shook his hand and then hugged him. “I just
want what’s best for you, you know that. If he... well, if Richard is what
makes you happy, I’ll live with it.”
Paul nodded and raced out the door and into Richard’s car. Richard looked at
him expectantly and he nodded. “You were right, they’re fine with it. Well,
mostly. Mom wants us to have anther one using me as the father.”
Richard laughed and pulled the car out of park. “Let’s get going, we’ve got
about eight hours before Mitch wakes up and I want to be home before then.” He
paused for a second. “Don’t forget tonight’s the party.”
For a moment, Paul considered arguing with him on it, but what was he going to
say? In truth, he just didn’t think it was fair to Mitch. Richard had admitted
that for the past week the kid had been drugged up to his eyes for at least
half the day and Paul figured that the only times Richard really let him come
out of it were when he wanted sex. Maybe with everything that was going on,
Richard would see that it was time to take the kid home.
“Oh, by the way, I got a call from my agent this morning. I got that part, the
one I went to the party for in the first place.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to have to ask you a favor. We’re starting pre-production
and I’ll need to leave for three or four weeks at least. I was wondering if
you’d mind watching the kid for me? He’s been a good boy lately and I’m sure
he’ll behave, especially for you.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably at the implication. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Richard took his eyes off the road long enough to give Paul a meaningfully
raised eyebrow. “Come on, surely you’ve noticed? The kid’s been giving you doe
eyes for weeks. Every time you get near him, he blushes like a school girl.”
When Paul looked skeptical, he laughed. “Fine, don’t believe me, but will you
watch him?”
“You know I will.” Besides, if Paul was watching over him, he could make sure
that no one hurt him. It would at least be a nice reprieve from the past few
months. “When do you leave?”
“Today’s what, Friday? So then Sunday morning, five a.m. I’ll have to be at the
airport by two.”
“Sunday?! That’s a bit short on notice, isn’t it?”
“They asked if I could manage it and I couldn’t think of a plausibly excuse to
say no, so I’m going. We’ll be shooting all over the place though. It’s some
kind of treasure hunting movie and they want to film as much on location as
they can, so I’ll be starting in England, moving down to Mexico, then out to
Italy and up to Russia.”
He looked over and smiled at Paul. “I’ll bring you something nice from every
port of call, I promise.”
The rest of the ride was passed in silence as Paul considered what he was going
to say to Mitch. He’d been promising three months, but Richard had said he’d be
gone for at least three or four weeks and he certainly wasn’t going to take
Mitch home the moment he got back. In fact, this was probably going to mean
that Mitch would be there at least a month longer than they’d planned.
Finally, they pulled off the road and onto a dirt path and Paul looked up to
see a run down two story stone house at the end of it. There were huge trees
surrounding it on three sides and Paul was struck instantly by the fact that it
looked like a miniature castle.
“It’s got four bedrooms on the second floor and one of the first. There’s a
massive kitchen, though I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with that. There’s
also a small study, a formal living and dining room, as well as a den and
breakfast nook.” He opened the door and Paul stepped into the surprisingly
dilapidated room. “I’ve already talked to a contractor. This place’ll be
livable within two or three months, but there’s a lot they have to do - wiring,
plumbing, the foundation’s solid, so that’s something.”
They walked through the living room and into the kitchen. It really was huge,
though it probably dated to the twenties or thirties.
“This is what sold me on this place.” Richard went through the kitchen and
opened the pantry door. Or at least, Paul had assumed it was the pantry. On the
other side of the wooden door was another door, this one made of reinforced
steal.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s the basement.” Richard pulled it open and it squeaked on its hinges. “The
house was built just after World War Two and the owners were nuts, apparently
thought they were going to need a fallout shelter. Come on down, it’s probably
the safest structure in here.” Paul followed him down the stairs, gripping the
metal guide rails tightly. At the bottom, Richard turned on a light which
flickered several times before coming on. The room was absolutely huge! It
spanned the entire base of the house and probably a bit more. The plaster on
the walls was coming off in places and Paul could see the metal lining
underneath.
“Holly shit.”
“Brilliant isn’t it? I’m going to remodel it, of course. The lock is on the
inside right now, but I’ve looked at it and it’s sturdy. I’ve asked the
contractor to keep the original door, just change it around so it locks from
the outside. Said I didn’t want my kid to lock himself in here, but just
imagine it, Paul! It’s absolutely sound proof and there is no way out, no
windows, and with that door... it’s perfect.”
Paul felt his stomach sink. He tried to imagine Mitch in this place and he felt
sick. “You’ll be taking down the plaster and leaving the walls metal?”
“Of course not. I’d never leave my boys in a place as dreary as that. I’ll
block off at least half of it, it’s much too big otherwise, but I’ll put up
some sheet rock and paint it a bright, sunny color, maybe a creamy yellow. I
might even put in some fake windows with back lighting.”
Paul’s stomach turn. God, he was going to be sick. “Can we get out of here?”
Richard shrugged. “Yeah, that’s about it, anyway. Everything else is getting
pretty much gutted and redone. When things are closer to finished, we’ll let
you pick a room and decorate it however you want. Unless you want to share a
room with me?”
Paul pushed Richard playfully, “Shove it, Richie.”
A pair of arms came around him from behind and Richard’s breath ghosted over
his neck. “I’d very much like to shove it, Paulie. The question is, will you
let me?”
A shiver ran down Paul’s spine and he closed his eyes, blocking out the dark,
depressing atmosphere of the basement. He let Richard kiss his neck and
position him so that he was leaning forward with his hands on the wall. What
was it about Richard that made him give in every time? His buckle was hastily
undone and his trousers and underwear were pushed to the floor. He shivered as
the cold, dank air hit his backside. Did he give in because of the sex? He
moaned as Richard pushed his spit slicked cock into his ass. The sex was good,
yes, the sex was really, fucking fantastic, but it was hardly the sort of thing
that one went around breaking the law for.
He took one hand off the wall and put it behind him, on Richard’s hip, trying
to make him go deeper. So, what was it if it wasn’t just sex? Was it love? He
did love Richard, but he couldn’t say that he was in love with him. There was
so much about Richard that he didn’t understand. There was that dark part of
his best friend that attracted people like Jessie and Tanner.
Richard pulled half out and slowly slid back in and Paul forgot to think
entirely as sensation washed over him. “Fuck, Richard.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
The cold and all other thoughts were quickly forgotten and he concentrated only
on the feeling Richard’s cock moving inside him, filling him. He’d had sex with
a handful of other men, but none of them had ever managed to make him feel like
this. When Richard gripped him, he felt like he was losing control and when
Richard fucked him it was like the entire world came down to just that,
Richard’s cock inside his ass.
“Richard.”
Richard bit his ear, “I know. You’re so fucking good, Paul, I’m gonna cum so
hard.” Paul groaned and his ass clenched involuntarily in anticipation.
Richard was pulling him back to meet his thrusts and Paul dropped his head,
groaning deeply as Richard held his hips in place, cumming inside of him.
Lazily, Richard reached around and pulled Paul off, breathing warm gusts of air
into his ear. It took a moment for Paul to come back to himself. He sagged
against the wall and took several deep breathes, trying to collect himself.
They’d had sex, brilliant sex and Richard had been gentle and as perfect about
it as he ever was. Paul looked at the pealing plaster in front of him. Why did
he feel so dirty?
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Mitch ran his tongue along the underside of Mickey’s cock.  He pulled back the
foreskin with his hand and rubbed the little ball of his piercing against the
overly sensitive skin underneath.  Almost instantly, he was rewards with a hand
pressing his face down, forcing the head of the cock into his throat as Mickey
came.
They’d been at this for over an hour, taking turns making him fuck or suck
them.  He’d had the distinct displeasure of having to suck off Jessie after
he’d fucked him.  Bastard hadn’t even bothered to clean himself off and the
taste was still so strong in Mitch’s mouth that he knew he was going to vomit
later.  At least he’d managed to school his gag reflexes enough to stave off
throwing up until everyone had finished. 
Mickey kept Mitch’s head down over his limp cock while Tanner positioned
himself behind Mitch, entering his slicked and stretched ass with ease.  “Oh,
Richard, I do love this kid.  Every one of us can take him a dozen times and
he’s still tight.”
The words didn’t mean anything to Mitch anymore.  He didn’t even know how many
times he’d heard them.  Tanner wrapped his fingers in Mitch’s hair and used it
to pull him off Mickey’s cock and drive him back to meet the vicious thrusts. 
It didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but that was almost worse.
Louis leaned over and kissed Mickey on the mouth, sweeping his tongue over his
brother’s lips before turning his attention to Mitch.  It was sick, debased and
wrong and, worse yet, it no longer fazed Mitch in the least.  Louis and Mickey
were brothers and they had incestuous sex, but that wasn’t any worse than
anything else that went on here.
Richard chuckled from where he was sitting at his desk and idly played with
himself.  It was surreal.  In the past week, he hadn’t been awake longer than
it took to have sex, eat food, or take a shower before Richard shoved more
drugs in him that knocked him back out for an indeterminable amount of time. 
If it wasn’t for the calendar that Richard marked off on the wall, he wouldn’t
have known it had been a week.  Louis pulled on his nipple ring sharply,
catching him off guard and he squeaked involuntarily.  Each of them had their
own habits and Mitch had learned them like the good little whore he was,
because if he did, he could make some of them end quicker and others less
violent.
Mickey liked to force people to give him pleasure, instead of just take it.  On
most occasions, he’d prefer to have Mitch ride him, or suck him off without
touching him, which was just fine with Mitch.  No matter how humiliated with it
he had been before, he’d learned that when he controlled the sex, it was much
less painful.
Louis liked to make his partners cum, especially when it was obvious they
didn’t want it.  That was a little harder for Mitch to handle, but as long as
he was pliant and willing to show at least some kind of reserved pleasure,
Louis would be gentle with him and that was always preferable to when Louis got
mad and fucked him without preparation or thought.
At first, Mitch had thought that Tanner liked to dominate people, but that
hadn’t been it at all and Mitch had figured that out the first time Tanner had
come to one of Richard’s parties covered in bruises and welts.  Tanner just
liked violence.  He didn’t care if he was inflicting it on someone, or if it
was being inflicted on him, he just liked it.  If Mitch at least tensed up, or
gave some sign that he was unwilling, then Tanner got off quicker.
The thing about Tanner that confused Mitch was that Tanner appeared to like
Paul and he’d do anything, even be gentle, if it were Paul he was fucking.  The
history between the two of them was confusing, but he knew that Tanner’s
obsession ran deep and that half of the control Richard had over Tanner, was in
his ability to control Paul.  Sometimes, if Paul was around during sex, Tanner
took it easy on him, but that also meant it lasted longer.
Jessie liked to dominate and he liked to make people hurt.  When it really came
down to it, Jessie didn’t care if he resisted, cried, or screamed, just so long
as Mitch did what he was told.  He particularly liked to make Mitch beg him to
stop, but he liked it more when Mitch begged him to keep doing it, which Mitch
did often enough, because the sooner Jessie got what he wanted, the sooner it
was over.
Richard got off on control.  It didn’t matter if Mitch scratched and bit and
bled, or if he laid on the bed like a corpse, as long as Richard was in control
of him.  Unfortunately, that particular kink was what had caused Mitch so much
pain lately, because Richard apparently felt so out of control in his life -
what with the waitress getting pregnant and Paul storming off and refusing to
participate in the parties - that he had taken it out on Mitch.  There was a
myriad of hand shaped bruises on his arms and legs in varying shades of yellow
and green.
Tanner yanked his hair harder as he came and Mitch bit his lip as a few strands
of hair were pulled from his scalp.  When Tanner pulled out, Louis pushed him
back so that he was leaning against Tanner and took his half hard cock into his
mouth, gently sucking it.  Slowly, Mitch felt his cock engorge and he moaned,
letting Louis expertly suck him off.
Coming had become harder and harder to deal with.  He knew that it was a
physical reaction to stimulus, he knew it had little to do with what he wanted
and that it didn’t mean he liked it, but that didn’t make it easier, especially
when it was oral sex.  At least with anal, there was pain behind it.  His only
consolation was that this meant they were almost finished with him.
Tanner pulled his hair again and he arched into Louis mouth.  Almost there. 
Almost there and then it would be over, at least for tonight.  With a muffled
cry, he came in Louis’s mouth, closing his eyes against the humiliation as his
cock was milked.
Mitch dropped to the bed when Louis moved away and Tanner let go of him.  His
body felt weak, but at least they were finished.  Crawling up, he stumbled into
the bathroom, ignoring Richard who patted his ass on his way past.  He shut the
door behind him and slid to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.  It was
over, it was over, it was over.
A wave of nausea ripped through him and he hurled himself across the bedroom
and to the toilet just in time to miss throwing up on the floor.  When the only
thing left was dry heaves, he laid on his back and took deep breathes.  Hm, the
taste of the vomit was actual preferable to the taste that Jessie’s cock had
left in his mouth.
Slowly, he sat up and looked at the tub.  If he took a bath, the blood would
just cloud the water and then he’d be soaking in it, but his legs were so weak,
he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stand long enough to take a shower.  Screw
it, he didn’t have to stand the whole time, just long enough to get in there
and turn on the water.
He turned the water hot enough to scald his skin bright red and sat down
heavily under the spray. The door opened and Richard slipped through, shutting
it behind him.  Mitch looked at him, waiting.  He must have had something to
say, because he’d never made it a habit of staring at Mitch in the shower.
 When Richard didn’t say anything after a few minutes, Mitch couldn’t take the
silence anymore.  “What?”
“Nothing, I was just... considering something.  Take your pill when you’re done
and go to bed.”
He nodded and Richard shut the door, laughing at something someone said to him,
but Mitch couldn’t make it out and he didn’t care to.
Less than a month.  Less than a month and he’d be able to go home.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul stared at the door to Richard’s apartment.  He’d dropped Richard off at
the airport at two that morning and been informed that it was up to him to tell
Mitch what was going on.  Pulling out a third cigarette, he lit it with a shaky
hand.  Richard had promised that as soon as he got back, he’d take care of
Mitch, but that was potentially another month away and, to be honest, Paul knew
how these things went.  If they didn’t get behind schedule by at least a week,
he’d stop smoking for good.
The other thing that worried him was the way he had said that he’d take care of
Mitch and the way he’d kissed Paul and winked at him when Paul had tried to
question it.  Of course, that was just like him.  When Richard didn’t want to
talk about something, he wasn’t going to talk about it, but what was there
about taking Mitch home that he didn’t want to talk about?  Was it the
threats?  Was he planning to beat the kid before dropping him on his doorstep? 
Or was it that he wasn’t planning to drop him on his doorstep at all.  With the
other boys, he taken them back where he had gotten them, but Paul had already
told him several times that he wasn’t going to let Richard drop Mitch off at
Humps, the poor kid had been through enough already without having to deal with
horny, doped up men tying to grope him in public.
Sucking the smoke, he rolled it around his mouth before breathing in and
sighing.  This really wasn’t getting him anywhere.  Richard had said the drugs
would have started to wear off by the time Paul got there and that meant that
Mitch was probably sitting in there, disoriented and confused.
He stomach twisted as he thought about Richard’s instructions to keep the kid
drugged over the next few weeks, especially if he went out.  Paul had never
questioned Richard’s instructions when it came to his boys, but... but Mitch
was different.  Mitch wasn’t some University brat that had had this coming, he
was fifteen and Paul would be damned before he saw a grade-schooler addicted to
sleeping pills.
He threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it determinedly.  Richard was
gone and now Mitch was Paul’s responsibility and he’d bloody well see to it
that Mitch wasn’t drugged, raped, or marked in any way.
“Someone looks pissed.”
He spun around, letting go of the handle to the door like it had burned him. 
“Millie!  Oh... god, you scared me.”
She smiled up at him from the bottom of the stairs.  “Sorry about that, it’s
just that I’ve been watching you from my window and you’ve been standing here
scowling for the past ten minutes.  I thought you’d given up smoking?”
“I did, but your brother could drive just about anyone to bad habits.”
“Oh.  So, where is my brother?”
Damnit, this was exactly what Richard had been talking about. Paul couldn’t
think of a single other occasion when she’d bothered to come out here, let
alone ask where Richard was.  Usually, she was just happy that he was gone, so
was she curious, or was she on to them, and if she was on to them, what exactly
was she on to?  Had she seen more than just random boys going in?
“He’s filming a movie in America.”
“Hm.”  She looked behind her for a moment, before smiling up at him again and
he suddenly realized it wasn’t a pleasant smile.  It was more like the way a
tiger might smile at a gazelle before attacking.  “So, what are you doing
here?”
Shit.  “What’s gotten into you, Millie?”
“Nothing.”  She threw her arms out, palms up.  “Richard’s always so secretive
and I’ve recently found myself curious, is all.  I mean, if you guys are life
partners or whatever, why does he go out to clubs still and why does he bring
people back?”
“Millie...”
Her eyes hardened, but her smile didn’t waver.  “And what about those other
friends of his?  I’ve watched before and you all go in at like four in the
afternoon and don’t come out until two or three in the morning and you’re all
so fucking hammered you can’t walk a straight line.  Not to mention the fact
that you have to come out at all.  If you’re Richard’s boyfriend, why do you
bother leaving?”
He opened his mouth again, but she shrugged and cut him off.  “Not that it
matters, or anything, I’m just... curious.  What did you say you were doing
here?”
His mind worked desperately for a plausible excuse.  “Packing.  You know, for
the move.”
“Right, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
She turned around and practically sauntered away.  Jesus fucking Christ, this
was not going to be easy.  He watched her leave, waiting until she was well out
of sight before he opened the door.  The smell of sex hit him like a bat upside
the head.  God, had they been at it all night?  He looked around and saw the
unmistakable signs that he was right.  Three empty boxes of pizza on the floor,
video game controllers strewn out in front of the television, cans of beer
everywhere, and, of course, Mitch, curled up into the smallest possible ball,
crammed into the corner of the bed and sleeping peacefully.  In fact, he was
sleeping too peacefully.
Stepping forward, Paul put a hand to the boy’s forehead and was relieved to
feel warm skin under his palm.  He was even more relieved when Mitch moaned and
tried to pull away from the contact.  Large eyes fluttered open and Mitch
stared at Paul, his face void of expression as he worked his way through the
drugged sleep.
“Paul?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”  The dubious tone of Mitch’s voice sparked more unwanted
guilt.  He should have come to the party, but he just hadn’t been able to
stomach it.  Even the thought of going in there and staying sober, watching
Mitch go through that, had made him almost physically ill, so he’d stayed
away.  Now, he didn’t think that had been such a good idea.
“What’r you doin’ ‘ere.”
Paul couldn’t help smiling at the jumbled slur.  “Never mind that, how are you
feeling?”
Mitch closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again.  “M’tired, but
m’not.”
“That’s the drugs wearing off.  How about we get you into a shower and see how
you feel then?”
Twenty minutes later and Paul was watching a ravenous Mitch, wide awake and
pawing through a bag of chips.  “Hungry, are you?”  Mitch shrugged and then
looked over, smiling brightly, but didn’t say anything.  Not that he needed
to.  Chances were, Richard hadn’t bothered to wake him up for very many meals. 
If that were the case... “Stay put, okay?”
Locking the door behind him, he raced across the back yard, past the fruit
trees, and through the back door of the house.  The sound of Celtic Christmas
music filled the living room over the intercom speakers.  “Mrs. Guider?!”
After a moment, the music stopped and Richard’s mother came out of the kitchen,
wiping her hands on a dish towel.  She beamed when she saw Paul and rushed over
to hug him.  “Paul, dear, Millie told me you were over.  How’s the packing
coming?”
“I didn’t realize Richard had that much stuff in that little room.”  She
chuckled and motioned for him to follow her back into the kitchen.  “I know
it’s early, but I was wondering if maybe you had some left overs?  I didn’t get
a chance to eat dinner last night, so...”
She winked at him before going over to the fridge. “I’ll bet you didn’t.  When
was Richard’s plane supposed to land?”
“Around noon or one, I think.”
Mrs. Guider handed Paul a container filled with roast chicken and another small
one with a thick, dark sauce in it.  “I don’t know why I worry so much.  He
always calls me when he goes on these things.”
Paul shrugged and rummaged through the silverware drawer for a fork and a
spoon.  A small bag of rolls was placed in front of him, as well as another
container, this one filled with green beans.  “Thanks, Mrs. Guider, you’re the
best.”
“Don’t thank me, you’re practically skin and bones.  I’d be lax in my duty if I
let me son’s... husband?”  Paul laughed, embarrassed, but didn’t correct her,
mostly because he wasn’t sure what to call himself, either.  “Anyway, it’s my
duty to make sure you’re well fed while he’s away.  Besides, I’ll hardly see
you once you move.”
He kissed her on the cheek and picked everything up. “Thanks again.”
She held the door for him and he hurried across the yard, fumbling with his key
in the lock and barely managing to hold everything.  Mitch was still sitting on
the floor with the television off.  The bag lay next to him, empty.  Paul sat
everything down in front of Mitch and went to the fridge, pulling out a soda.
“Eat up.”
Mitch opened the container of chicken and his mouth fell open.  “Oh my.”
Paul chuckled, “You can heat it up if you want.”
Mitch shook his head and took out a piece, biting into it ravenously.  For the
past two and a half months he’d lived off pizza and hamburgers and chips,
marked with the occasional take out fish and chips or Chinese food.  The
chicken tasted like heaven and he closed his eyes, reveling in the texture and
the herbal flavor.
“Is it good?”
He nodded and Paul pushed over the rest of the containers.  Mitch smiled
sublimely at the green beans and rolls.  He hated green beans, but it had been
so long since he’d eaten vegetables, that he would have welcomed zucchini at
this point.  Swallowing thickly, he turned to Paul and felt his face flush
slightly.  “Thanks.”
Part of Mitch felt abandoned by Paul.  The last few weeks had been horrible,
Richard had been more abusive than ever, and he’d been more inclined to let
Jessie have a go whenever he felt like it.  The other part of him was
surprisingly thankful.  There were so many things he had done without putting
up any kind of fight and somehow the idea of Paul seeing him submitting to
Richard and the others was more humiliating than the acts themselves.  Still,
it was nice to have Paul there, to be alone with him again.  When it was just
him and Paul, he didn’t have to worry.  He could relax.
He watched Paul fish through the blankets on the bed and then under the bed
until he came up with the remote for television.  “Let’s watch something and
relax, then you can play around and I’ll clean, okay?”
Mitch nodded emphatically and bit into another peace of chicken... which went
immediately dry in his mouth as the television came on to a picture of a
Christmas tree.  It was only a week and a half until Christmas.  He’d hoped
he’d be home in time for it, even if he’d known that the odds were slim.
“Paul?”  Paul looked over and Mitch could see the strain in the man’s face. 
“Do you think... will I be home in time for it, do you think?  It’s almost been
three months.  Do you think Richard would let me?”
There was a lengthy silence and Paul paused the television.  “Mitch, I don’t
really know how to tell you this, but, well it’s a case of good news, bad news,
really.”
“What do you mean?”
“Richard got a part in a movie, they’ve started pre-production and he went to
England to film it.  He won’t be back for three to four weeks.”  Mitch could
see Paul physically bracing for an attack, but he didn’t much feel like
attacking, he just felt... numb.
“Oh.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul cringe.  “I’m... god, I’m sorry,
Mitch.”  Paul looked down and picked at the carpet.  “He’ll have to take you
home as soon as pre-production is over, okay?  I mean, filming’ll start soon
after and that can go on for months, so...”
Months?  A sob came out of Mitch’s throat before he could stop it, because he
had long ago realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that he knew Richard Carter
better than Paul ever had.  If Richard were going to let the filming of a movie
force him to take Mitch home, he would have done it already.  Months.  He’d
miss his mom’s birthday.  He’d miss his cousin Alley’s graduation.  Would he be
home in time to take his finals?  Not that he’d be able to take finals,
because...
Paul wrapped his arms around him and Mitch realized that hot tears were flowing
freely down his face and he was whimpering.  He hadn’t even realized he was
crying.  Without thinking about it, he threw his arms around Paul and let
himself go.  He was vividly reminded of a time, early on in his captivity, when
he’d sought this kind of comfort and it had come from Richard.  He hadn’t cared
who held him then, but he cared now.  He cared that it was Paul, because when
it was Richard, he had felt vaguely sick, now he only felt relieved.
He wasn’t sure how long it took him to run out of tears, but when he did, he
became aware of Paul rocking him, stroking his hair and mumbling.  “Sh, it’ll
be okay, I promise.  Sh, sh, please.  It’ll be better.  Richard’s gone, so no
parties, okay?  No more of the others.  It’s just you and me for the next few
weeks.  We’ll play games and watch movies and I’ll... I’ll bring you home-
cooked meals.”
“Will you cook them yourself?”
Paul chuckled and his hand didn’t stop stroking Mitch’s hair.  “I would, but
I’m a horrible cook.  How about I ask my mother to make something tomorrow and
I’ll bring you the left overs.  She always makes twice as much as we can eat,
anyway.”
Mitch sighed and relaxed into Paul’s chest.  It was like having a broad, firm
pillow under his head, only it smelled masculine in a way that was distinctly
Paul.  “I’d like soup.”
“She makes a spectacular tomato basil.”
“That sounds nice.”
There really wasn’t anything left to be said, but Mitch didn’t want to let go
of Paul just yet.  It was nice, having someone to hold him, someone he
trusted.  Paul had said no parties.  He’d said none of Richard’s other friends
would come over.  Besides, Mitch hadn’t really expected to get home by
Christmas; it had just been some silly hope.  He wasn’t even sure he was going
to get home at all.  There was so much about Richard that terrified him and
made him think that this wasn’t all he was capable of.
He turned his head to bury it in Paul’s chest and breathed deep.  At this
point, he’d take what he could get and be happy with it, especially if that
something included Paul.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul listening to Mitch’s deep, even breathing next to him.  In the three days
since Richard had left, Mitch had thrived, becoming happier, more talkative,
eating full meals.  He’d even managed to put a few pounds on him, which was a
relief, because while the other boys had lost considerable weight as well, it
somehow looked worse on Mitch.  Maybe it was because Mitch had been so small to
begin with.
Before, he’d had no comparison to how Mitch had behaved in the past and it was
easier to imagine that his reluctance to talk and glum attitude were normal. 
Having talked to Cynthia and watching Mitch over the past few days, it was
becoming painfully obvious that he had never before been the sullen type.  In
fact, according to Cynthia, he’d always been the kind of person that stood out
in crowds and made people notice him.  It worried him that Mitch could become
so different in such a short time.
He wrapped his arm more firmly around the boy cuddled up next to him.  Mrs.
Guider had fixed baked salmon and rice pilaf, which Mitch had happily inhaled,
then they’d settled down to watch a movie and the kid had quickly fallen
asleep.  Paul wasn’t watching the movie either anymore, but he was afraid that
if he moved, he’d wake up Mitch and it was better to let the kid sleep for now.
That was another thing that disturbed him, the amount of time Mitch spent
sleeping.  Not that there was anything else to do, but Cynthia had said Mitch
was active and Paul almost wished that he could see that.  Almost, because as
soon as Mitch left, Paul was going to stay the hell away from him.  What the
kid needed was a normal life, free from any reminders of what he had been
through.
“So, this makes us friends, right?”
Paul froze for a moment as the sound of Cynthia’s voice filled the room.
“So, this makes us friends, right?”
Shit!  Mitch stirred as Paul struggled to get his phone out of his back pocket
without waking him.
“So, this makes us friends, right?”
Mitch lifted his head and blinked his eyes open.  “Cynthia?”
God damn it!  Finally, Paul gave up trying to be discrete and just stood up,
dumping a confused Mitch on the bed as he ran for the door.
“So, this makes u...”
“Hello?”  He shut the door behind him and closed his eyes, hoping the kid
wouldn’t rush it.
“Hey, Paul, it’s Cynthia.”
There was no sound of movement from inside the room and he relaxed against the
door.  “Hey, how are you doing?”
“Good, only I just saw something on the news that has me a little... confused.”
“What?”  Did the police have clues?  Was Richard or himself a suspect?
“I just saw a segment where they said that Richard Carter had come out of the
closet and that his life partner was... well, you.”
Oh, that.  Richard hadn’t told him when he was planning on telling the media,
but apparently, he’d already done it.  Damnit, it would have been nice of him
to let Paul know.  “Yeah, um, that’s... that’s right.  I am Richard Carter’s
life partner.”
“Oh,” she paused, “because you told me that you weren’t gay and we did... well,
let’s just say I wouldn’t expect a gay man to be able to perform, I guess.”
So theyhad had sex.  “Look, I’m really, really sorry.  I’d had a fight with
Richard that night and I was damned and determined to get drunk and, as per
usual, I have now made an ass of myself.”  She didn’t say anything for a moment
and he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Can we go out tonight and, I don’t know, talk?”
She wanted to go out?  “Why?”
Cynthia chuckled and even though it sounded stained, it wasn’t unfriendly.  “I
like you and if we can’t be anything else, I’d like us to be friends.  Besides,
at least I know it’s not me, it’s my vagina.”
He couldn’t help but laugh, mostly in relief.  He wouldn’t mind being friends
with her, either.  “Yeah, we can go out.  I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Thanks.”
She hung up the phone and he looked at it for a moment.  So, she wanted to be
friends.  He’d never managed to be friends with a girl before, either they
wanted something else, or he fucked it up from the start.  With a shake of his
head, he stepped back inside the room.  Mitch was still sitting on the bed,
much in the same disheveled position he’d left him in.
“Was that Cynthia?”
Paul considered lying, but he wanted Mitch to trust him, “Yes.”
Mitch sat back a little and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around
them.  “She has your number?”
“Remember, the night me and Richard fought over that waitress?”  He waited for
Mitch to nod before continuing. “I went out drinking at a club and she was
there.  Honestly, I think she came here looking for you, but she hasn’t said as
much.”
For several seconds, he thought Mitch was going to cry again, but then the kid
nodded and put his chin on his knees.  It was impossible to read what was going
on behind those eyes, but he could guess that it was a combination of confusion
and concern.  Paul sat on the bed and wrapped an arm around Mitch’s shoulder
before he could pull away.  “I don’t want to be mean, Mitch, but... well, she
isn’t going to find you.  She’s guessed that it was Richard you were seen
dancing with, but she assumes you left alone or with someone else.”
Mitch nodded and to Paul’s surprise, no tears sprang to his eyes at the thought
that his chance to be rescued was cut off.  Instead, he seemed more
determined.  “I don’t...” he bit his tongue ring, pulling it between his teeth.
 “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Paul hugged Mitch tighter, “She won’t.  Richard doesn’t know who she is or that
she has any connection with you and I’m not telling him.”  Why wasn’t he
telling Richard?  His entire life he’d always run to Richard with problems,
he’d always told him everything.  Why was it that he didn’t trust Richard with
this?  “I’m not going to drag her into this, okay?  Now you get some sleep.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out, I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”  He turned around and walked out
without a second glance.
 
 

*****
 
 
“So this is called what, again?”
“A Buttery Nipple.”
She giggled and swiped at his arm, but took a deep breath and downing it,
shuddering at the after taste of alcohol.
Paul chuckled as she looked at the little shot glass between her fingers. 
“Good?”
“It’s... kind of sweet.”
“Like you.”  He winked at her before taking a large gulp of his beer.
She blushed, but nodded.  “Like me.”
Paul tilted his head sideways and took her in, flushed face and all.  He had
pulled up to her apartment to find her waiting for him outside, wearing low
ride jeans and a brown, sparkly shirt that made the blue in her hair stand out,
she had on thick boots and very little makeup, and her hair was down, hanging
around her face and making her look so incredibly young.  In fact, if it wasn’t
for the fact that he had already slept with her, he would have refused to buy
her alcohol.
Still, she was nice and she seemed to brush off his verbal blunders without
holding them against him.  “You know, I’m really glad you still want to be
friends.  Most of the time I make an ass of myself in front of girls and they
never want to see me again.”
“I would have thought that was on purpose, so you wouldn’t have to commit.” 
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what she was talking about.  “I mean, what with
you being with Richard and everything, I assumed that all that public dating
was nothing more than a stunt to throw the media off.”
Shit.  “Yeah, well, they were, it’s just... the other girls never really wanted
to be friends or anything.”  God, he was making an even bigger ass of himself,
no wonder Richard didn’t like him getting drunk when he was out on his own. 
“You know how they always show gay men on television surrounded by girls? 
That’s not me, I’ve always wondered why.”
Cynthia nudged him with her shoulder.  “Probably because if they asked you
whether their butt looked big you’d say yes.  You are a very honest man, Paul
Zalinsky, I like that about you.”
If he hadn’t been acting for years, his smile would have been strained.  “Paul
Gerring, actually.  Zalinksy was my grandmother’s maiden name.”
Cynthia played with the rim of her shot glass and Paul watched her long finger
nails in fascination.  They were painted orange and the polish had chipped on
several of them, but somehow that made it look... real and honest, unlike so
many of the people he’d met over the years.  “Bartender, can you get the lady a
Sex on the Beach and I think I need a martini.”
The bartender looked dubiously at her, as he had the last three times Paul
ordered her a drink, but made it and put it in front of her, going to fix
Paul’s drink.  Cynthia looked at it for a moment, “So, what’s in this?”
“I have no idea, but I like it.”
With a determined smile, she tipped it towards him and then took a large drink,
her face puckering greatly.  “Oh, my god, that is awful!”
Paul took a sip of his martini and then pushed it towards her, trying not to
laugh.  “I think we’re going to need a Sprite after this.”
Cynthia nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  “So, Paul, how
long have you known Richard?”
“Why?”  His heart had jumped into his throat.  He’d been dodging Millie’s
questions for days and he’d just drunk two beers and was starting on a
martini.  Of course, she’d had three shots of hard liquor, but that didn’t mean
she couldn’t think corners around him.
“Well, last time we talked, I told you all about me.  I guess I just wanted to
know a little bit about you.  Besides, it’s not every day you get to talk with
a tabloid headline.”  Thanking the bartender, she sipped her Sprite.
Paul considered telling her he didn’t want to talk about Richard, but the truth
was he did.  His entire life there hadn’t been a single person he could talk to
about Richard; he hadn’t had many other friends and the ones he did have were
Richard’s friends as well, and considering the kinds of things he wanted to
talk about, his parents were out of the question.  Cynthia continued to smile
at him and he hunched over in his seat, melting at the chance to get some of
this off his shoulders.
“Richard and I met in elementary school, much like you and Mitch.  I was always
getting bullied around and Richard swooped in and saved me.  He’s always been
there for me, my whole life you know?  If I was worried about a test, he would
stop whatever he was doing, he’d cancel a date, or he’d skip out on going
places with his parents just so that he could help me.  If I got in trouble, he
was always there to get my out of it, because he was always very good at that. 
I... I love him, I do, but...”
She listened quietly and waited patiently while Paul tried to gather his
thoughts.  There was so much that he wanted to tell her and so much that he
couldn’t, if only for her own safety.  He’d told Mitch he wasn’t going to get
her involved in this and he had meant it.
“Sometimes he does things, things I can’t even begin to understand.”
“Like what?”  Glancing at her, he didn’t see anything devious in her sincere
gaze.
“Like Tanner.  Tanner’s this friend of Richard’s and I don’t really like him. 
See, he kind of gets off on hurting people or having them hurt him and I’m not
into that, especially not when it comes to sex, but Tanner’s got this crush on
me, has since forever.”  He set down his martini and tapped on the bar,
motioning for the bartender to get him another.  “So, Richard throws these
parties and he keeps making me and Tanner have sex, like he gets off on it, or
something, and I don’t know why I go along with it.  No, you know what, I do -
it’s because of the drugs.  That’s another thing.”
He nodded his thanks to the bartender and took a large sip.  “Richard does
these crazy drugs.  I don’t even know what they’re called or what they really
do, but they make... they make me want to have sex.  It’s like my skin is
crawling for it and when I get like that it doesn’t matter that it’s Tanner. 
God, this is so messed up.”
She hadn’t said anything and there was no recrimination or disgust that he
could see - only concern and curiosity.  Paul had always had a low tolerance
for alcohol, at least, lower than the others, and he should have stopped after
one beer, but it was nice to have someone to listen to him and an excuse to say
things he wanted to say.
Cynthia wasn’t sure where this was going, but she got the feeling that it was
going somewhere she wanted to be.  When they’d broken off a week ago, she’d
known there was more to Paul than he was saying.  She hadn’t been lying about
him being honest, but, more importantly, he was a horrible liar.  God only knew
how he managed to act, but there was something in the way he shifted from one
foot to the other and kept looking to the side, as if checking who might be
listening, that told her he did remember the night Mitch disappeared and there
was something he wasn’t telling her.
“Then there’s Richard’s boys.”
Bingo.  “Boy’s?”
“Well, not boys, young men, really.  He picks them up at bars and takes them
back to his place and they... live with him a few months before he sends them
home.”
His feet were propped up on the bottom of the stool, but she could see him
moving them and he’d looked up to make sure the bartender wasn’t too near.  Of
course, it could just be that Richard was a celebrity and he was nervous about
anyone getting gossip on him.  “It must really bother you.”
“Huh?”
“He’s been your boyfriend, or, well, life partner for years.  It must bother
you that Richard thinks he needs someone other than you.”
There was a pause that lasted just half a second too long.  “Yeah, it does.”
It was the hesitancy that cinched it for her.  It wasn’t that Richard was
fucking someone else that bothered Paul, but she’d be damned if she knew what
the actual problem was.  “Hey, let me have a taste of that martini.”
***** Chapter 11 *****
It was too bright and his phone was too loud.  Paul rolled over, bumping into
Mitch, who was laying between him and bedside table.  The ringer went off again
and he instantly recognized Louis’s voice.  What the fuck?  He reached over
Mitch and picked up his phone, answering it with, “Hey.”
“How’s the babysitting going?”
Paul looked over at Mitch, who was stretching half under him, his lithe arms
pulled over his head, his hair jostled on the pillow.  He looked like an angel
swallowed in oversized blankets.  “It’s going fine.  So, what’s up?”
“Me and the boys were thinking we’d head over in a few hours.”
That got his attention.  He sat up quickly, “You what?  Why?”
“We were bored, thought maybe we’d have a party tonight.  I know Richard’s
gone, but...”
“That’s precisely the point, Louis, Richard isn’t here.”  He heard Mitch gasp
next to him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a
reassuring gesture.  “I’m not throwing any parties while Richard’s gone.”
Louis chuckled nervously on the other end of the phone.  “What’s wrong, Paul?”
Shoving the blankets off him, he stormed out the door, flinching as his bare
feet fell on cold wood and the harsh light bettered his eyes.  It was
unseasonably cold for December.  Probably fifty degrees out and it had to be
nearly noon.  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Louis.  He’s fifteen and Richard may
have been okay with that, but I’m not.”
“Paul...”
“No.  I’m not letting you touch him while I’m in charge.”
“Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but what does it matter?  We aren’t going
to do anything we haven’t done before.”
He closed his eyes, just managing to reign in his anger.  “Don’t you get it,
Louis?  You keep using the kid without realizing that that’s what it is,
using.  He has to go home eventually and he has to take all this back with
him.  I’m not giving him anymore nightmares to live with.”
Louis was quiet on the other end for several moments and Paul thought perhaps
he had finally gotten through to him.  “Paul, Richard can’t take him home.”
Paul felt his body temperature drop several degrees, making him numb with the
implication.  “What?”
“Come on, Paul, think about this.  It would have gotten out by now.”
“What would have gotten out?”
“Never mind.  Look, if you don’t want us coming over, we won’t, but if you
decide you need company give me a ring.”
Before Paul could say anything, Louis ended the call.  Damnit!
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch had woken at the sound of Paul’s phone going off.  Louis’s voice.  He
knew why Louis was calling, but forced himself to pretend to be asleep, hoping
Paul would sleep through it.  Would they come over even if they couldn’t get a
hold of him?  However, luck was not on his side and he felt Paul reach over
him, taking the phone off the bedside table and answering it briskly.
He tried to tell himself that Paul had said he wouldn’t let them come over, but
what if they were persistent?  As far as Mitch could tell, Richard’s hold on
Paul only extended to Richard himself, but what if he was wrong?
“That’s precisely the point, Louis, Richard isn’t here.”
Mitch couldn’t help but gasp, Paul sounded angry.  Could he mean what Mitch
thought he meant?  A hand rested on his shoulder and he opened his eyes,
watching Paul’s sneering face with wonder.  He did, he was telling Louis they
couldn’t come over.  Suddenly, Paul threw the blankets off and stormed out the
door, without bothering to put on a shirt or a pair of shoes.
Getting up lazily, Mitch went into the bathroom and turned the water on just
hotter than he could comfortably stand.  Getting under the spray, he gritted
his teeth and began scrubbing his skin with a hard sponge that Richard had
bought for him.  He looked at the sponge, his skin going numb under the hot
water.  Another month of this.  Another month of taking fruitless showers that
couldn’t clean him.  Another month of sitting in bed, watching television and
eating junk food.  Well, okay, not so much junk food, because Paul was bringing
him real meals, but still...
Mitch looked down at his ribs bemoaningly.  He’d just started working out a few
weeks before Richard took him and his abdomen had started to tone up, even his
legs had shown some definition.  Now, all that hard work was gone.  He wasn’t
sure how much he’d lost, but he knew it was substantial.  His ribs were starkly
defined and it wasn’t like it was on purpose, it was just that he couldn’t keep
anything down.  Or, at least, he hadn’t been able to until Paul had started
taking care of him.  Now he thought he might have gained a few pounds and he
wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
The door opened and he closed his eyes, grabbing the shampoo bottle and
lathering his hair.  He wasn’t sure why the way he looked suddenly bothered him
now.  For the past few months he had been content to ignore his physical shape
in lieu of trying to simply deal with the reality of his situation, but
something about being there with Paul, being alone with Paul made him self-
conscience.
Was there really any reason to be self-conscious, though?  Paul seemed to like
having sex with men, but that was only ever with Richard or when he was high. 
What if Paul was straight?  Mitch knew only a fraction of how far Richard’s
control over Paul went, so what if it extended to his sexuality, as well? 
Cynthia.  Cynthia had called Paul last night, which meant he had given her his
number, and, more importantly, Paul had gone to her.  Did that mean Paul liked
Cynthia?
He stood there for several minutes, letting the steaming water wash over him,
before he reached over and turned the faucet off.  The mirror was completely
fogged over, which was fine with him, because he didn’t really want to see
himself anyway.  His hair had grown since he’d gotten there.  It used to hang
just below his ear, now it was nearly long enough to cup his jaw.  Hm, what
would his parents think of that?
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went into the room to get his clothes. 
Paul was sitting at the desk, his head in his hands.  He had looked up and
smiled. “Hey, kid.”
There was that word again.  ‘Kid.’  He’d noticed in the last few days that Paul
really did think of him as a kid, but then Mitch supposed he really was as far
as physical age was concerned.  He hadn’t filled out like Paul or Richard, he
was still awkwardly skinny, even when he’d been home, eating his weight in food
twice a day.
Kneeling in front of the open closet, he sifted through the laundry basket of
his clean clothes.  Finally, he settled on a pair of black sweat pants and a
plain white t-shirt.  Richard had tried to convince him to get something other
then plain colored shirts, but he hardly worn those outside of this room and it
wasn’t like he had anyone to impress, anyway.
“Mitch, you okay?”
He looked over at Paul sharply, but saw only concern.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Still
waking up, is all.” It wasn’t Paul’s fault that he saw Mitch as a kid, the man
was only trying to do what he thought was right.  The problem was that what
Paul thought was right was clashing terribly with what Mitch thought was
right.  Paul wanted to do the honorable thing and not touch Mitch, but Mitch
wanted nothing more than for Paul to touch him.
“You want to watch television?”
Mitch turned his back to Paul and dropped his towel, pulling the sweats and
shirt on slowly to give Paul enough time to watch.  “I don’t think I’m up for
television right now.  Maybe we could just sit here and read or something?”
After a minute, Paul nodded, but the concern hadn’t left his slightly creased
eyebrows.  He didn’t wanted to worry Paul, but he was sick to death of
television, even if it meant he missed a chance to cuddle up close with Paul. 
Two hours passed with Paul sitting at the desk, surfing the internet and Mitch
laying on the bed reading Interview with a Vampire. His parents had said it was
too violent for him, but Richard didn’t have any such reservations.
His vision started to blur and he sat up on the bed, pressing his hands over
his eyes.  Fuck, he was tired and he’d only been awake for a little while. 
Paul saw Mitch sit up out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at him.
“You okay?”
Mitch shrugged, “I don’t think I can read anymore.”
The lower part of Paul’s stomach clenched pleasantly at the site of Mitch’s
slightly rumpled hair, his lips pushed forward in a fetching pout.  “What do
you want to do?”
“Sleep?”
Getting up from the computer, Paul sat on the bed next to Mitch, “It’s the
middle of the day, you can’t go to sleep yet.  How about we watch something?” 
Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the remote and turned on the
television, flicking through the channels.  He tried to ignore the fact that
Mitch was intently watching him, party because it was disconcerting, but mostly
because he knew what he’d see in the boy’s eyes if he looked back.
“Are you sleeping with Cyn?”
Okay, maybe he hadn’t known.  Looking over, he saw Mitch chewing the left
corner of his lower lip expectantly.  “I... Well... that is to say, we slept
together once, but that was a few weeks ago.”
He stopped chewing his lip for a moment, only to start in on the right side. 
“Right.  Do you like her?”
Paul thought about it for a moment, trying to decide what he should say.  He
did like her, but he didn’t think he liked her like that.  Although, to be
honest, the way he felt about her was different than anything he had ever felt
for a girl.  It could be just friendship, or it could be more, but right now,
he couldn’t afford to analyze it.  When Mitch went home, Paul was going to cut
off contact with them both.  He decided to stick to the truth, or at least part
of it.
“We’re just friends, Mitch, nothing more.  I won’t let her...”
He was interrupted by Mitch lunging forward and pressing his mouth to Paul’s,
kissing him with a clumsy kind of determination that was far more erotic that
it had any right being.  He wanted to push Mitch away, but the truth was he
wanted to kiss him back more and his better senses were not winning out. 
Before he could stop himself, his hand was on the back of Mitch’s head and he
found himself pushing Mitch, not away, but onto his back so that he could lay
over him and press their bodies together.
Mitch parted his legs without hesitation and Paul could feel the familiar press
of a half hard cock against his hips as he settled between them.  God, this was
wrong.  Mitch moaned into his mouth as Paul slipped his tongue between the
eagerly opening lips and the small body arched against him.  Fifteen, he’s
fifteen years old.  He ran a hand down Mitch’s side, and slipped it under his
shirt, feeling the smooth, warm skin.  Mitch whimpered, but unlike every other
time he’d heard the boy cry out, there was no mistaking the sound for anything
other than pleasurable.
Sliding his hand up the boy’s bare abdomen, he moved to pinch one of Mitch’s
nipples and felt his fingers brush against something metal.  He stopped
breathing, stopped kissing, stopped all movement except the careful examination
of what felt like a piercing, but that couldn’t be right, because Mitch hadn’t
had any piercings the last time he’d seen him naked... which was before the
damned tongue ring.
Pulling back, he ignored Mitch’s little noises of frustration and pushed the
shirt up, revealing the little round loop hanging from Mitch’s chest.  A little
oval ball of green sat at the bottom of it and inside of that, Paul could see a
little grain of rice.  He was terrified of what it would say.  How much could
they fit on one of those things?  Was ‘property of Richard’ too much?
He leaned down and lifted it with his finger, looking at the black words
imprinted on the small grain.  ‘Mitchell-dear.’  God, that was almost as bad,
worse maybe, because at least ‘property of’ would have been ownership, this was
just some sick, subtle reminder that no one else would understand.
Mitch moved away, pulling the little ring out of Paul’s slack grip and pushed
his shirt down back down over his chest.  “I’m sorry... I didn’t... Richard...”
Paul looked up at Mitch and something inside of him melted.  Mitch’s lip was
quivering just slightly and his eyes were brighter than normal.  He was on the
verge of crying, which he hadn’t done since Richard first left.  Paul pulled
Mitch to him and held him. “No, Mitch, I’m not mad at you.  I’m not.  It’s
Richard, okay?  He’s never been like this before, he’s never hit his boys, or
pierced them, or... god, I’m so sorry, Mitch.”
Mitch’s breath hitched, “Sorry for what?  You didn’t do anything.”
That was exactly the problem, he hadn’t done anything.  He should have tried
harder at Humps to convince Richard to move onto someone else.  He should have
grabbed the kid and taken him home before that first party.  He should have
done a thousand things, but he’d done nothing.
It would have gotten out by now.
He couldn’t think about that right now, if he did, he’d do something stupid,
like take the kid home.  Shutting off what he was quickly coming to realize was
the rational part of his mind, he pushed Mitch away from him, looking at the
reddened eyes and smiled playfully.  “I guess Cynthia was right, you do have
delicate emotions.”
Mitch sniffed deeply and straightened himself, rubbing the tears roughly off
his cheek. “I do not.”
Paul chuckled, “Better?”
“Yeah.”  Mitch gave a ghost of a smile.  “Hey, Paul?”
“Hm?”
“Can we... keep going?”  When Paul didn’t immediately answer, Mitch started
talking quickly, tripping over his words.  “I know... I mean, I get that I’m a
kid and that I’m... used and you can do better, but, I like you.  At least, I
think I do... no, I do, but it’s hard to think properly about anything in
here.  I...”  He faltered and looked down at his knees before looking back at
Paul.  “I want to.”
Paul couldn’t even begin to formulate a thought around that.  Mitch was asking
him to have sex with him?  He wanted to?  “You want to?”
The kid’s cheeks went bright pink, but he didn’t look away.  “Yes, I want to. 
You said...” he bit his lip before continuing, “you said that it was about
trust and that I had to trust the person I was with.  Well, I trust you. 
You’ve never hurt me.  You don’t like what they’re doing and, yeah, you won’t
let me go, but at least you aren’t throwing me at them like... like I’m a toy. 
I just... I need to know that it isn’t always like that.  I want to know what
it would be like with someone... someone like you.”
He trailed off and Paul was at a complete loss for words.  Mitch trusted him? 
How the hell could the kid trust any of them after everything he’d been
through?  It was unfathomable, it was absurd and what made it worse was that
Paul was sure it was the truth.  Mitch did trust him and he did want to have
sex with him, but Paul had said he’d make sure the kid wasn’t raped while he
was there and wasn’t that what this would be if he went through with it?  Oh,
he had no doubt that Mitch would see it as consensual, but there really weren’t
any other options open to him at the moment, were there?
Mitch shifted nervously.  “If you don’t want to, just say so.”
Damn it.  He reached forward and cupped Mitch’s jaw in his hand, careful not to
grip it and he studied the boy’s face for any kind of hesitation, anything that
would indicate he wasn’t absolutely sure.  There was nothing there besides hope
and didn’t Mitch need something to hope for?
With a resigned sigh, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mitch’s in a
soft kiss.  Mitch closed his eyes and relaxed into it, relieved.  Paul’s tongue
swept into his mouth and he moaned, sucking on it eagerly and pushing his
tongue back against it.  The hand on his face slid to the back of his head and
settled at his neck without force and the warmth of it sent chills down Mitch’s
spine.  This was what a kiss was supposed to be.
Paul pulled away long enough to lift Mitch’s shirt off over his head and throw
it carelessly to the side before kissing him again.  Mitch put his hands on
Paul’s chest, feeling the firm muscles under his fingers.  Paul tensed slightly
and Mitch ran his hands down, feeling Paul’s tone abdomen quiver slightly as he
moved lower.  Reaching for the drawstring of the Paul’s night pants, Mitch
found that he fumbled a little on the knot, unwilling to break off the kiss to
look down and see what he was doing.
Paul reached a hand down and pushed Mitch’s away gently, pulling back from the
kiss. “Lay back.”
The bed felt cool against his warm back, but Paul was over him almost
immediately, kissing him again and driving all other thoughts from his mind. 
Mitch moaned eagerly as Paul began kissing down his body, sucking gently and
leaving little red marks on his chest and abdomen until he got to the line of
Mitch’s pants.  Quickly, he undid the string and pulled the pants and underwear
down over the boy’s hips.
Mitch closed his eyes and pressed his head into the bed as Paul licked the head
of his leaking cock.  “God, Mitch you’re so fucking hot.”
“‘M not.”  Mitch felt himself blushing, taken aback by the compliment.  Paul,
with his tone body and broad shoulders was sexy.  Richard, with his rugged good
looks was sexy.  Even Tanner, with his limber movements was sexy.  Mitch was
short and scrawny and there wasn’t anything sexy about him.
Paul kissed down the shaft of his penis and then stopped, waiting until Mitch
looked up at him.  “You are.”
Without hesitation, he dropped his head, burying his nose in the dark blonde
pubic hair as he swallowed Mitch’s cock into the back of his throat.  It wasn’t
large, per say, but then it wasn’t small.  In fact, for a fifteen-year-old, it
was rather impressive, standing at a slender seven inches.  He squeezed Mitch’s
thighs and cupped his balls in one hand, kneading them while he bobbed his head
up and down, moaning around the head of the cock.
Mitch arched his back.  Louis had sucked his cock often enough, even Tanner had
done it once, after Jessie had injected something into Mitch’s nipple that made
him beg for any contact, hard or soft, pain or pleasure, but it had never been
like this.  Even on the drugs there had been a sense of deep shame that wasn’t
present now and when Paul stroked him, touched him, it made his body sing.
His balls tightened as his orgasm built and Paul pulled his head up.  “I want
to fuck you.”
Mitch found himself whimpering at the confession.  “Do it.”
Paul shook his head, “Not yet.”  He sat up, reaching over Mitch for the bedside
table and pulling the little bottle of lubricant out of the drawer.  A moment
later, two fingers pressed against his ass and he bit his lip against the
shudder than ran through him as they slipped in.  Paul moved them achingly
slow, twisting them inside Mitch until they brushed against his prostate.
He heard a chuckle from between his legs and his already pink faced turned
bright red.  How could this be so embarrassing when Richard and the others had
done so much worse?  For god’s sake, Richard had rimmed him and suddenly he was
embarrassed that Paul had a few fingers up his ass?  Paul’s mouth was back
around his cock, sucking and making lewd slurping noises.  He crooked his
fingers inside of Mitch, rubbing them against the little gland again and
Mitch’s orgasm crashed over him, washing away all other sensation, making him
cry out from the intensity and leaving him panting.
Paul swallowed, sucking for several more seconds before moving back up Mitch’s
body, leaving a wet trail of saliva as he ran his tongue along the middle of
Mitch’s chest.  When he positioned himself and pushed in, slow and steady,
Mitch clutched at his arms, not sure whether he wanted him to back off or go
faster.  His whole body was still painfully sensitive and his ass quivered
around the welcome intruder.
The tight purse of Paul’s balls fell against his ass cheeks and Paul stopped
moving.  He put a hand on Mitch’s face and tipped it back, kissing Mitch, his
tongue twisting around Mitch’s mouth and moving it in and out in a parody of
sex.  “You’re so tight, Mitch.  You feel me inside you?  You feel how big I am
for you?”
It should have been silly, like something out of a porno, but somehow in that
moment, coming from Paul it sounded perfect.  He nodded, “Yeah.”
“Can I fuck you?”
It was another of those silly questions - the man had his cock buried in
Mitch’s ass and he had to ask if it was okay? - but again it sounded strangely
comforting.  “Yes, god, please.”
Paul pulling back and pushing in again was like cool salve on a burn.  He cried
out and his wilted erection twitched, stiffening as Paul continued to fuck him,
his strokes becoming longer and harder with each thrust.  By the time Paul
lifted Mitch’s legs onto his shoulder, doubling him over and began to truly
fuck him in earnest, Mitch’s cock was once again standing at full attention and
leaking droplets of fluid down his shaft.
One of Paul’s hands moved between their bodies and wrapped around Mitch’s cock,
pulling him off as Paul slammed into him.  Mitch locked his ankles around
Paul’s neck and clenched his jaw, unable to control the scream of pleasure that
ripped out of him as he came a second time.  Paul pushed into him and stopped,
his cock pulsating as he came deep inside Mitch before collapsing on top him.
They laid there for some time, panting and shaking with exhaustion.  The
pleasant fog that had settled over Mitch’s mind started to clear, but he
tightened his grip around Paul’s neck.  He didn’t want this to end just yet. 
At the movement, Paul moaned and pulled out of Mitch, rolling off him
languidly.  Mitch’s heart sank into his stomach, but Paul, unlike Richard,
wasn’t interested in getting out of the bed or rolling over and ignoring Mitch,
pretending he was a whore that had out lived his usefulness for the evening. 
Instead, Paul put his arms around Mitch, drawing the boy to him so that Mitch’s
face was pressed against his chest and Mitch had never felt so protected in all
his life.  He closed his eyes and welcomed sleep, comforted in the arms of the
man that he loved.
 
 
*****
 
 
The next morning found Paul lying on the bed, sated and content.  They had
gotten up early and taken a shower.  Paul had told himself that the sex would
only be that one time, just to show Mitch that it didn’t have to be painful and
degrading, that it could be wonderful.  It was easy enough to tell Mitch ‘no’
in his head, but when the boy was naked and slicked with soap, sidling up to
him and breathing sweet, dirty words into his ear ... well, that was another
matter entirely.
In the shower, Paul had taken his time, kissing Mitch breathless and nearly
suffocating him with what he was reluctant to call love, but felt quite a bit
like it, or what he imagined it should be.  The boy’s skin was silky smooth
under his hands and his voice, heavy with lust was the most beautiful sound
Paul had ever heard.  Afterwards they had retired to the bed and Paul had
watched television, his arm slung loosely around Mitch, who was reading his
book and listening to his iPod, a grin on his face that showed more contentment
than Paul had ever seen on the boy.
He watched Mitch turn the page, his feet bobbing in the air in time with the
muffled music and chuckled.  Mitch looked up at him, his grin replaced with a
wary look of concern.  He pulled the headphone out of his ear and sat up.  “Is
something wrong?”
Paul shook his head and stretched his hands behind his head.  “No.”  He felt
like doing something nice, something that would make the boy smile again.  “How
many songs do you have on that thing?”
Mitch looked at the pink mini-iPod.  “Um, it might be about half full, I
suppose.  Richard bought it for me and set me at the desk to get music,
but...”  He trailed off and Paul could see the memories of whatever had
happened that night playing in the boy’s mind.
“Well, then, I think it’s about time we fill it up.”
He got off the bed and took Mitch’s hand, pulling him off the bed and setting
him at the desk.  Mitch looked up at him with wide eyes and Paul leaned over
the boy, turning on the computer.  While he waited for it to boot up, he tipped
Mitch’s face back and kissed him, drawing it out until he heard the familiar
chimes as the computer finished logging in.  The pink tint of Mitch’s cheeks
was satisfying and he almost took the boy back to bed right then, but just as
he leaned back in to kiss Mitch again, his phone rang and the voice it rang
with was like ice being poured over his crotch
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up!”
He cursed and clicked on the internet connection, typing in the password
quickly.  “I’ll be right back.”  He flipped open the phone to cut off another
ring and kissed Mitch softly again before leaving the room.  Mitch stared at
him until the door closed and then looked back at the computer, his heart
pounding in his ears.
The internet was on.  Richard had never left him alone with the computer on,
let alone with the internet logged in.  All he had to do was write an email,
less than two minutes and someone would know where he was, they would come to
get him.  Less than two minutes, more than enough time.  He looked at the door
again and closed his eyes.  He wanted out of here, he really did and he didn’t
want to die, which was a very likely possibility with Richard Carter involved,
but Paul...
It should have made him want to cry, but instead he only felt a little deader
inside than he had been before and that wasn’t anything new to him.  With a
heavy sigh, he gave up on rescue and typed in the website for iTunes.  He
didn’t want to risk Paul getting into trouble, because none of this was his
fault, not really.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Paul shut the door behind him and held the phone up, trying to disguise his
annoyance.  “How are things going, Richard?”
 
“Great!  Well, it’s snowing, so maybe just good.”
“Snow?”
“It’s absolutely freezing and they’re insisting on shirtless photo-ops for the
promo-material.”
“Sounds positively horrific.”
Richard chuckled, “You know, strangely, it’s not that bad.  We should come here
on vacation next winter.”
There was none of the usual spread of comfort he always felt from hearing
Richard’s voice.  “Maybe.”
“How’s the brat?”
“He’s fine, been behaving himself like an angel.”
“Like I knew he would.  Look, we’ve got a bit of a snag here.  It seems my co-
star has decided he doesn’t want to go forward with the project and we’re in
need of a supporting lead role.  What do you say, Paul?”
This was as familiar a scene as any other, only now there wasn’t the feeling of
pride over Richard having called him for it, only the thought that he couldn’t
leave Mitch.  “I...”  He couldn’t believe he was saying this.  “I can’t,
Richard.  Who would watch after Mitch?”
“Don’t worry about Mitch, Paul.  Jessie’ll take care of it.”
His mind was flooded with images of the boy in the throws of passion, wanting
it, genuinely asking for it and he couldn’t... he couldn’t go in there after
that and tell him that he was leaving and that Jessie would be taking care of
him.  Just the idea made him physically ill.
“I’m not leaving Jessie to watch over him, Richard.  It’ll be almost a month
before we get back.  I can’t leave him with that man for a month.  I just
can’t.”
There was nearly a minute’s pause before, “I didn’t say anything about Jessie
watching him.  I said Jessie would take care of him.”
It would have gotten out by now.
Oh, god, please no.  “Richard...”
“I said he’d take care of it, Paul.”
Paul closed his eyes and a voice echoed inside his head, clear as if he had
said it out loud.  There was no way he was letting this happen and he’d lie to
Richard if he had to in order to prevent it.  “Alright, Richard.  When do I
leave?”
“That’s my Paul.”  He was going to be sick.  “Your plane leaves tomorrow at
seven in the morning.”
The tightness in his chest had nothing to do with excitement, but the fact that
he only had a few precious hours left with Mitch.  He had to get the kid packed
and home in time for him to drive back, pack his own bags and get to the
airport by five.  That was only - he looked at his watch - sixteen hours away
and how long would he have before Jessie decided to come over?
“I’d better go then.”
Richard chuckled, “Give Mitchell-dear a kiss for me, love.  I’ll see you soon.”
“Right.”
Paul hung up the phone and stared at it, trying to collect his thoughts.  He
wasn’t sure how he felt about Richard, or about his admission that he had no
intentions of taking Mitch home, or even letting him live, but he did know that
he couldn’t let that happen.  He stuffed the phone in his pocket and rapidly
descended the steps.
The two car garage under Richard’s flat was used mostly for storage, with a
small, careful carved niche for his corvette.  There was memorabilia from every
movie, and boxes of things that Richard had outgrown or just simply didn’t use
anymore, but what Paul wanted wasn’t going to be among these things, they were
going to be in the very back, behind the moth eaten sofa that had at one time
served as Richard’s bed.
It took him several minutes to traverse the treacherous floor and finally make
it behind the sofa where the many bags that Richard no longer used cluttered
the floor.  There were two trunks, but Paul didn’t think he could fit a trunk
into his little sport’s car.  Eventually, he settled on two duffle bags and a
backpack.  Unlike most of the boys, Mitch hadn’t collected a great many things
and he was confident that he could fit them in these.
It took him longer to find Mitch’s clothes.  They’d been shoved on top of a
book case and were covered in dust, but Paul shook them out and tucked them
under his arm.  Upstairs, Mitch was loading music onto his iPod.  He looked at
Paul when he came in, but his smile quickly dropped as he saw the dirty affects
the man had brought with him.  “What are those for?”
Paul dropped them on the bed, mindless of the dust that instantly clung to
Richard’s white sheets.  He couldn’t bring himself to answer Mitch’s question,
because he still could only half believe he was doing it himself.  “Go take a
shower.”
“But...”
“Mitch.”  The boy pouted and Paul went over to him, kissing him full on the
mouth and tracing the inside of his lips with his tongue.  When he pulled away,
Mitch was too flushed and flustered to argue when he ushered him into the
bathroom.  “Take a shower.  I’ve got... it’s a surprise.”
Mitch nodded and shut the door behind him.  Paul immediately went to the stack
of DVD’s next to Richard’s entertainment center.  He picked them up and dumped
them unceremoniously into one of the duffle bags, coughing as it kicked dust
into his face.  Crap, maybe he should have aired them out more.
It was surprisingly easy to tell what was Richard’s and what wasn’t.  By the
time Mitch came out of the shower, Paul had filled one bag with DVD’s and
games, another with clothes, and the backpack was crammed with books, the
updated iPod, and a few other odds and ends that he had seen laying around the
room, including Mitch’s clubbing gear.  He’d even managed to find the jeans
that he’d brought over for Mitch, though now that he looked at them again, they
were probably much too big.
Mitch stopped as he came into the room, his eyes fixed on the bags sitting on
the bed.  Paul tossed him the jeans.  “Get dressed.”
“Why?”  There was a resignation in Mitch’s voice that forced Paul to stop his
frantic last minute searching.  As much as he would have like to say different,
Richard had treated the kid so badly, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he
would think something bad was coming.
Standing in front of him, Paul pulled the towel off and knelt down, making
Mitch step into too-big boxers and pulling them up.  With great restraint, he
kissed Mitch’s forehead this time.  “I told you, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
He went back to looking under the bed and then in the closet.  When he was sure
that he had everything, he looked back at Mitch and saw the kid still standing
by the door, his arms wrapped stiffly around himself and his eyes averted to
the floor.  “What’s wrong?”
Mitch looked up and his eyes were hard.  “You’re going to Richard and you’re
taking me somewhere for someone else to babysit.”
Mitch dropped his gaze.  He’d overheard part of the conversation Paul had with
Richard and he’d gotten the gist of it.  Richard wanted Paul to meet him
wherever he was filming.  The hopeful part of him thought that maybe this meant
he would be going home, however, the more logical side of him knew that wasn’t
it at all.  The logical part of him knew that Richard couldn’t take him home,
because even if he swore not to tell there was too much risk involved.  Most
likely he was going to...
“I’m taking you home.”  He looked up again sharply, unable to breathe and Paul
sat on the bed, nearly toppling the luggage off it.  The man raked his fingers
through his hair and then met Mitch’s eyes.  “Richard wants me to meet him in
England to do this film.  I can’t say for sure how long it’ll take, because I’m
stepping in as the supporting lead roll and...” he shook his head. “Sorry, the
point is, he wants me to do this and I will, but I won’t leave you with Jessie,
I can’t do that.  So, I’m packing your things and I’m driving you home and then
I’ll get on a plane and explain the whole thing to Richard when I get there.”
Mitch stared for several seconds before he finally managed to think and even
then, the only thing he could say was, “Oh.”
Paul chuckled, but it had a deflated quality to it.  “So, can you get dressed
for me?”
Nodding, Mitch grabbed the clothes off the floor and pulled the jeans on.  He
must have lost a good amount of weight, because this was close to the size he’d
worn before coming here and now they almost fell off him.  The t-shirt was too
big as well - he felt like he was swimming in them.  Not that he was
complaining, because for once they were real clothes and he was going home.
Paul lifted the backpack, putting it over shoulder and then picked up the two
duffle bags.  “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
Mitch looked hesitantly at the door, but Paul nudged him forward, so he went to
it, turning the knob slowly as if he expected something to jump out at him. 
Paul smiled softly as he realized that was probably exactly what the kid
expected.  It was still chilly out and Paul cursed as he realized that he’d
forgotten to get Mitch shoes.
He looked around, then down at his car and cursed. “Stay right there.”
Making his way down the stairs, he opened the back door, throwing the bags in,
then looked back up at Mitch, shivering in the doorway and opened his diver’s
door, turning the car on and starting the heater before he went back up.  Up
close, he couldn’t say whether the boy’s shaking was entirely from the cold, or
whether nerves had a hand in it.  He shook his head and leaned down. “Hold on
tight.”
Before Mitch could complain, he wrapped one arm around the boy’s back, the
other under his knees and scooped him up effortlessly.  God, the kid couldn’t
weigh much more than a hundred pounds.  He bit down on the guilt, pacifying it
by reminding himself that he was taking the kid home, he was doing the right
thing.  Maybe a little late in the game, but he was still doing it.
Once Mitch had been safely deposited in the passenger seat, Paul went to his
side and got in.  He was more then a little concerned that Mitch hadn’t tried
to run.  There was trust and then there was stupidity.  Sure, Paul hadn’t hurt
Mitch and he’d said he was taking him home, but Mitch only had his word on that
and it seemed strange that the kid wouldn’t at least try something.   The only
problem was, he didn’t think Mitch was stupid and that scared him even more,
because the only other possibility was that Mitch had lost the will to fight.
He’d have time to think about that later, right now he just had to get going,
before someone came out of the main house looking for him and saw Mitch in his
car.  Putting the car in gear, he turned to Mitch with what he hoped was a
comforting smile.  “Buckle up.”
Paul started to back out while Mitch fumbled with the buckle.  He was doing the
right thing.  He was.  So why was his stomach tied up in knots?
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia was sitting in the living room, watching television and biting her lips
worriedly.  She’d had to come home to Temple City for Christmas, but, after
three incidents of her breaking down into tears, her mother had promised that
she’d be allowed to go back to Los Angeles afterwards.  It was just so
frustrating to be here, when she should be hanging out with Paul and trying to
pry information from him.
She looked at her cell phone on the coffee table.  He hadn’t called her since
the last time they’d spoken, but she wasn’t really surprised.  Paul was the
sort that preferred to be led and he was more likely to wait for her call than
to call her.  God, she was just being so stupid.
Turning off the television, she put her head in her hands and took several deep
breaths.  She should have gone to the police with what she had, she knew she
should have, but it wasn’t as easy as all that.  When she took a step back and
looked at the situation, she couldn’t honestly say she would have believed
herself.  The famous Richard Carter went to a seedy gay dive to pick up some
faceless kid when he has a life partner and, on top of that, said life partner,
Paul Zalinsky is in on the whole thing, along with several other people if what
Paul had said was true.
She leaned back into the cushions and tried to think it through again.  There
were just so many possibilities and until she knew which ones were true, she
didn’t feel comfortable going to the police.  What if Mitch had gone
willingly?  What if he wanted to be there?  What if he’d gone and then decided
to stay when he saw himself on the news because he didn’t want Richard to get
in trouble?  But, then, what if Richard had taken Mitch against his will and
was keeping him captive somewhere?  Or worse, what if Richard had killed
Mitch?  Then, of course, it could all have been some kind of accident.  Maybe
Mitch went home with him and he tripped and fell or maybe...
She kicked the coffee table in frustration and as if on queue, her phone rang. 
Jumping, she picked it up and checked the number, half expecting it to be her
mother checking up on her again.  She’d slept late and maybe her mom thought
she was out with her friends.  Instead, she was surprised to see ‘Paul’ on the
display.
Answering it quickly, she took a deep, steadying breath.  “Hello?”
“Hey, Cynthia, it’s Paul.”  His voice was low, almost a whisper.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.  He really was a nice guy, all things
considered.  “How are you?”
“I’m good.  You in Temple yet?”
“Of course, mom insisted, but I’ll be coming back in a week or so.  Why are you
whispering?”
“I’m in the car with... someone and he fell asleep.”  There was a long pause. 
“Look, I need a favor and I need you not to read too much into it, okay?”
She shrugged, then realized that he couldn’t see the gesture.  “Of course, what
do you need?”
“I need you to tell me how to get to Mitch’s house from the Burger King.”  Her
brain froze and her entire body locked up in shock.  She couldn’t form a
coherent thought and when she didn’t immediately respond, he asked, “Are you
still there?”
“Yes, yes, I am.  Um, why do you... I mean...”
“Look, please, just don’t ask questions.  I’m not sure I can answer them.  Just
tell me how to get there.”
Her brain was working again and she stood up, running back to her room to get
dressed while she talked.  “You go left, towards the grocery store and turn
right at the second light, then another three streets down you take a left. 
You’ll be on that road for about, maybe two minutes and you’ll come to a stop
sign.  There’ll be a play ground to the right and a large school building to
the left.  Go past that stop sign and take the first left.”
She flicked on the speaker phone and threw it on the bed, pulling her sweater
on while she spoke.  “Go another two streets down and take a right, the sign
should say Mayberry Street, Mitch’s house is the second to last on the left
hand side.”
“Right, that’s right at the second light, left three streets down, first left
after the school, right at the second street, that’s Mayberry and then second
to the last on the left hand side.  Do you have any other street names?”
“No, I don’t have a license, so I don’t really pay much attention.”
There was a very long pause and she was afraid Paul had hung up.  She zipped
her jeans and picked up the phone, turning off the speaker and holding it to
her ear.  “Paul?”
“You don’t have a license?”
Oh, shit!  “Well, I mean, I don’t... drive, I guess, so...”
“Cynthia, how old are you?”
She cursed, but didn’t stop pulling on her boots.  “Um... eighteen?”
He laughed, but it was strained.  “Why don’t I believe you?”
She put her head on her knees, sighed and then sat up.  “Okay, fine, I’m
fifteen - a little over a month younger than Mitch, actually.”
“That’s just perfect, I really am turning into a pedophile.”
“Paul, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, especially after
we... you know.”
“God, you can’t even say it.  I’m only dating wrinkled old porn stars after
this.”
She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and leaned against the wall.  If
she opened the door to go outside, he’d probably hear it and she didn’t want
him to know she was leaving.  “I am sorry.”
“I know.”  He did sound like he knew, too, like the whole affair was inevitable
in some way.  “I’m going to let you go so I can drive.”
“Okay.”
As soon as he’d hung up the phone, she left.  Mitch’s house was two streets
down from hers and if she hurried, she could make it there before Paul. 
 
 
*****
 
 
“Mitch.”
Mitch groaned.  His neck was stiff and his back ached.  “No.”
“Come on, Mitch, wake up.”
He couldn’t do this right now.  He was too sore and tired to deal with
Richard.  Couldn’t the man just leave him alone for one fucking day?  He pursed
his lips together to muffle the sob that broke lose.  “Please?”
“...Mitch, it’s Paul.”
His eyes snapped open as the events of the day flooded back to him and he found
himself staring at his house.  He sat up and looked around the car.  That’s
right, he’d fallen asleep in Paul’s car while they were driving to his house. 
Actually, he hadn’t really been sure that Paul was telling the truth about
that, for all he knew it was just some ploy to get him in the car, but Mitch
was beyond fighting things at this point.
“Hey.”
His head shot around to see Paul looking at him nervously.  “Hey.”
“We’re here.”
He glanced over at the house again.  “I know.”
Paul hesitated for a moment before taking Mitch’s face in one hand and kissing
him on the mouth.  He kept it chaste, not using his tongue and when he pulled
back, Mitch looked confused and uncertain.  Paul bit his lip and plunged
forward with what he had to say, “I know that this doesn’t even begin to make
up for everything, but I am sorry.  I’ll speak with Richard and get him to
leave you alone.”
Mitch shook his head shortly.  “No, no, I’m not going to say anything to
anyone, I just... I just wanted to go home.”
“I know.”  Paul put his forehead against Mitch’s, not missing the way Mitch
relaxed against him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  “Take
care of yourself, okay?”
When Mitch had nodded, Paul reached past him and opened the door.  “I can’t
really help you with the stuff.”  Mitch nodded again, stepping out of the car
and hissing at the sharp sting of gravel on his feet.  He opened the back door
quickly and pulled out the heavy bags, grunting with the effort of lifting the
bulkier of the two duffels, which he was almost certain held the movies.
Standing next to the car, he looked around nervously, before smiling at Paul. 
“Thank you.”
Paul didn’t say anything else, just smiled as Mitch shut the door and then
drove off.  Numbly, Mitch turned around.  He was home.
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia wasn’t sure why, but she was angry.  She’d hid behind the bushes of the
Dearing’s neighbor and watched the whole thing and she was pissed off.  Really,
she wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the tender display had been too much. 
Through the car windows, she had seen Paul kiss Mitch and they’d sat together,
cozy for well over a minute, before Mitch had gotten out and what the hell was
in those duffel bags?!  He certainly hadn’t had anything on him when he’d
disappeared.
Paul drove off and Mitch turned away from the street, still holding the bags
bulging with she didn’t even know what and a large backpack on his shoulder. 
He didn’t move, just stared at it, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing
until Cynthia finally couldn’t take it anymore.  She stepped out, her feet
crunching on fallen leaves.
Mitch’s head whipped around and when he saw her, his legs started to go cold
and his vision tunneled.  This was real.  He was home and that was Cynthia
standing only a few feet away, wearing the sweater she hated and new boots. 
They were nice.  His opened his mouth, but only managed to get out, “Cyn...”
before everything went black.  The last thing he saw was Cynthia rushing
towards him.
Chapter End Notes
     As far as I'm aware there is no Mayberry Street in Temple City. The
     directions are entirely fictitious and probably could leave you
     somewhere - maybe - but I have no idea where that would be.
***** Chapter 13 *****
“I told you, I don’t know.”
The police officer sitting across from her tapped his pen on the desk
impatiently.  “This is your friend.  Don’t you want to help him?”
“Of course I want to help him!”  She uncrossed her arms and looked the man in
the eyes.  “I don’t know what happened to him.  I was going over to the
Dearings to see how they were doing, because it was the holidays and I hadn’t
seen them in over a month.”
He looked at the paper in front of him and she barely resisted the urge to roll
her eyes.  “According to the Dearings you didn’t stop in to say goodbye before
you left and you didn’t try and contact them when you first got back.”
“My bad.”
“I find it hard to believe, Cynthia, that you just happened to come over in
time to see Mitch faint in the front yard.”
“Yes, well, I find it hard to believe you passed graduated high school.”
“You what?”
She smiled her most innocent smile.  “I said, could I have some water?”
He narrowed his eyes, his patience obviously wearing thin.  “That is not what
you said.”
With a casual shrug, she stood up, going to the little hot water cooler in the
corner and poured some into a plastic cup before walking back, still smiling as
she sat down.  “I’m going to tell you this one more time and I want you to
really listen.”
The officer stared at her, open mouthed, unable believe that a fifteen-year-old
was taking the piss in his interrogation.  Cynthia put down the cup and put her
elbows on the table, leaning forward as she spoke.  “I went to see the Dearings
because I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t spoken to them since before I left. 
When I got there, a car parked in front of their house.  It was a black four
door, I don’t remember what make or model, and I wasn’t thinking to look at the
plate.  Mitch got out of the car and it drove off.  He seemed to be... I dunno,
in shock or something.  When I called out to him, he passed out and I started
yelling for Mrs. Dearing.”
“Did you see the driver.”
She did roll her eyes this time, sitting back in the chair.  “I didn’t see
anything!”
The room went silent and she sighed, crossing her arms back over her chest. 
Honestly, was the man retarded or something?  Of course, she wasn’t telling the
truth, but that was beside the point, because he couldn’t very well know that
and until she talked to Mitch she wasn’t telling the police anything. 
Discreetly, she dropped her arms and slipped her hand into the pocket of her
coat, thumbing the pink mini-iPod that had fallen out of Mitch’s pocket when
he’d fainted.  At the time, she’d meant to give it to the police, but now, she
wasn’t really sure what she should do with it.  She could hardly blame Mitch
for having an affair with an older man and maybe Mitch wanted to protect that
man.  She certainly wanted to protect Paul, at least, unless it came to light
that he had done something wrong.
The door to the interrogation room opened and all of her hostility waned as she
saw Cheif Dearing standing in the doorway.  “Parker, go get me some coffee.”
The young officer didn’t say anything, just nodded and got up, brushing past
his superior.  Cynthia’s resolve melted under his stern gaze and she pouted at
the floor. Chief Dearing closed the door and sat down across from her and for
the first time in the hour that she’d been in the station, she felt unsure of
herself.
“Cynthia.”
“Hello, Chief.”  She’d let go of the iPod the moment the door had opened, now
she pulled her hand out and clasped her fingers together, fidgeting.  The mere
prospect of lying to Chief Dearing made her feel light headed.  At home, he was
nothing more than a big teddy bear, in his uniform, he was pretty damn
intimidating.
“Cynthia, I want you to tell me the truth.”
With a frustrated whine she put her arms on the table and laid her head on it. 
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I honestly don’t know the truth.  I have my suspicions, but... they’re
nothing more than that.”
A hand fell on her head softly and she looked up, feeling tears welling up in
her eyes, real ones.  God, it had been simply ages since she’d really cried,
not since Mitch first disappeared.  Chief Dearing smiled down at her, kind, but
stern.  “You went to Los Angeles to look for him?”
She nodded.
“You found someone who matched the description of the man we were looking for?”
“I found someone who knew the man that matched the description, but he said
that he didn’t know anything.”
Chief Dearing leaned forward across the table, bringing himself eye level with
her.  “Did you believe him?”
After a moment, she shook her head.  “Not really, but Mitch is only fifteen and
he could have just been trying to protect his friend.  I don’t know anything
more than that.  I really don’t and I... I don’t want to get someone in trouble
when there probably isn’t anything to it.”  She thought bitterly of the
affectionate display between Paul and Mitch.  If Mitch had done all of this
because he’d wanted to, she wasn’t going to get Paul in trouble for it.
She sniffed back her tears and sat up, feeling a little more confident.  “Is
Mitch awake yet?”
Chief Dearing nodded, but didn’t seem inclined to move.  “The hospital called
to tell me he woke up twenty minutes ago.”
“Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure, yet.  They think it was mostly shock that made him pass out. 
You know, Cynthia, you owe it to Mitch to tell me if you even suspect
something.  Even if it was consensual, he’s fifteen.  That’s still statutory
rape.”
She gulped down the knot in her throat and nodded.  “I know, but... I just want
to talk to him first, see what he has to say before I start ratting on people
that might or might not have done something.”
He sighed, but stood up and held out his arm, putting it around her shoulder
when she stood to join him.  “Come on, he’ll probably be happy to see you and,
besides, I can question you in the car.”  She stuck her tongue out and was
relieved when he smiled.  “You realize you are going to be in a world of
trouble when your mother finds out you lied about why you wanted to go to Los
Angeles?”
“Yeah, I get that.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch sat on the edge of the hospital bed, pulling at the hem of the overly
large sweater his mother had brought for him.  Nervously, he pulled his tongue
ring between his teeth and listened to the comforting click of it against his
teeth.  It was all he could do not to hyperventilate.
“Are you okay?”
He jumped a little when his mom touched his hand and then relaxed, “I’m sorry.”
She smiled and stroked his hair, pulling him towards her so that he was leaning
against her shoulder.  “It’s okay, baby.  Mommy’s here.”
The door opened and Mitch tensed and pulled away from his mother as the doctor
walked in, holding his report and studying it.  He flipped a page and his brows
knitted together.  “Mrs. Dearing, would you mind stepping outside with me for a
moment?”
She reached down and put her hand on top of Mitch’s.  “Anything you have to
say, you can say in front of my son.”  So far, his mother had been everything
he could have possibly hoped for.  She hadn’t questioned him and when he’d said
that he didn’t want to talk about it, she hadn’t pushed him to.  He knew that
she had permitted them to run some tests on him while he was unconscious and
while it bothered him a little, he figured that he’d rather not have been awake
for them.  However, he was glad that she wasn’t going to talk to the doctor’s
without him there.  He’d much rather know what she knew, than have to guess at
it and guess wrong.
The doctor looked up and sighed, his gaze wavering between them for several
moments before settling on her.  “There’s no delicate way to say this, ma’am,
but we found evidence of rape.”
“Rape?”  Her hand over his stilled and the blood drained from Mitch’s face. 
Okay, maybe he didn’t want to be here for this.
“From the amount and extent of the scarring, I’d estimate that it’s been
ongoing since he first disappeared.”
Mitch just managed to gulp down his vomit.
“There are also signs of malnourishment, drug use, mostly heavy sedatives, but
some narcotics, as well as various other forms of abuse.”
For a moment, his mother didn’t say anything and when she did, her voice was
choked up.  “Can we step outside?”
Mitch couldn’t bring himself to look at her as she squeezed his hand and
followed the doctor out.  He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, pulling on
the tongue ring in an attempt to get himself under control.  He’d known that
they would know.  His father was always talking to his mother about cases that
he was working on and how helpful the doctors were.  He’d mentioned things they
could get from hair and blood samples, not to mention the physical proof.  It
was all very fascinating.  At least, it had been until it was used against him.
He pulled his knees up to his chest, propping his heels on the table and
waited.  Eventually, they would start asking who and he still wasn’t sure what
he was going to tell them.  Certainly not the truth, because while Richard may
not have verbal threatened his family, the threat was always implied and Mitch
had no doubt that if he spoke up it wouldn’t just be Mitch that would pay for
it, but his family, his friends, anyone he had told.
Putting his head on his knees, he tried to breathe against the tight
restriction in his chest.  He’d wanted so badly to come home, but he was
beginning to think it would have been better if he’d died in that room, because
at least then he wouldn’t have to put up with the looks of disgust and pity on
his parents’ faces or deal with the unexpected inability to let anyone touch
him without flinching.
Mitch rubbed the tears that were running down his cheeks off onto his shirt. 
For the first time since Richard had initially taken him, he wished he could
just die.
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia sat in the chair of the waiting area, stunned.  Chief Dearing had sat
her down and explained the situation to her after he’d talked to the doctor. 
Mitch wasn’t doing very well.  So far, he’d said nothing, literally refusing to
speak to the doctors.  He flinched away when anyone tried to touch him.  He
kept going from very emotional, to blank without warning.  He’d thrown up twice
for no discernable reason.  Other than that, there were physical signs that he
had been sexually assaulted, drugged, abused, and a good number of other things
that Cynthia didn’t even want to think about.
“Cynthia?”
She looked up at him, trying to get her thoughts in order.  God, she’d been so
upset when she first saw him, thinking that he’d just run away to be with
someone and the fact that person might have been Paul had just made her even
angrier.  She didn’t even know why, but now... Mitch had been raped, drugged,
abused... now she had even more questions than she’d had in the beginning,
because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Paul hadn’t done those things,
but then who had?
Then there’s Richard’s boys... He picks them up at bars and takes them back to
his place and they... live with him a few months before he sends them home.
Oh, god, it was Richard.  Richard had picked Mitch up at the bar, taken him
home and kept him there, drugged him, raped him for months.  Not only that, but
he’d done it before, several times if Paul’s indications were anything to go
by.
Chief Dearing looked concerned, but he pressed on.  “Cynthia, I think maybe you
have the answers you need and now I need some.  Whatever you know, tell me.”
She pulled her eyes from the floor to look at him.  “Not until I talk to
Mitch.”  She had to be certain, because she didn’t want to believe that Paul
would let that happen.
For a moment, she thought Chief Dearing would fight her on it, but Mrs. Dearing
put a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay, dear, she’s just as shocked as we
are.  Take deep breaths, Cynthia, you’re looking a little green.”  When Cynthia
was sure she had her stomach under control, she took Mrs. Dearing’s offered
hand and allowed herself to be led through the hospital halls.
They stopped outside of a closed door and Mrs. Dearing looked at her more
sternly than Cynthia had ever known her to.  “I know that you’re trying to do
what you think is best, but we need to know who did this to him.  Whoever it
is, is a sick man and while he’s still out there Mitch is in danger, not to
mention every other boy this man might come in contact with.  Do you understand
that?”
When Cynthia nodded, Mrs. Dearing opened the door, motioning for her to go in. 
Cynthia didn’t look up until the door had closed behind her and she knew that
her and Mitch were alone in the room.  Mitch was sitting on the examination
table, his legs hanging off and his head down.  He was so thin!  His hair was
longer, and he’d lost some of the color in his skin.  She didn’t even need to
see his eyes to know that they wouldn’t be as bright or full of life as they
had been before.
“Mitch?”
He looked up, startled out of his thoughts.  “Cynthia.”
She was relieved that he was speaking to her.  At least he wasn’t so
traumatized he’d lost his voice entirely.  He probably just didn’t want to
answer their questions.  “How are you?  Have they finished poking you with
needles?”
A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “You know how much I hate needles.”
There was a funny click and a subtle slur to his words, but she ignored it,
because it was a relief just to hear him again.  “Your mom says that you aren’t
talking.”
He gave a soft, hollow chuckled and hung his head.  “I don’t know what to say
to her.”
Before she could stop herself, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around
him, holding him gently, but firmly and ignoring the way he tensed up, because
he relaxed just as quickly.  “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Hesitantly, he put his arms around her and hugged her back.  “I’m... I’m really
glad to see you.”
She nodded into his shoulder, but couldn’t bring herself to let go.  Besides,
it was easier to talk when she wasn’t looking at him, especially considering
what she needed to talk to him about.  “Mitch, I need to know... I need you to
tell me if Paul had anything to do with this.”
He body stiffened.  “I don’t know who...”
“Don’t say that, Mitch.  I know you know him, just tell me if he had anything
to do with what Richard did to you.”
At the mention of Richard, Mitch yanked back suddenly and looked at her, his
eyes wide with fright.  “How do... what....”
 “Paul’s got a big mouth when he’s drinking.  He said some things that didn’t
make a lot of sense until... well, until they told me about your condition.  I
know, okay, but if Paul did any of this...”
“Paul didn’t do anything.”  Mitch said it very quickly and then rushed on, as
if he couldn’t stop himself.  “He was nice.  He was the only one that was.  He
took care of me and he kept Richard off me when he could.  He even brought me
things.”
Brought him thing?  “The duffel bags?”
He shook his head.  “No, most of that was Richard.  A lot of the time he liked
to pretend I was there because I wanted to be and I think he kind of thought
that if he bought me things I wouldn’t try and escape.  I don’t know, really,
he’s kind of... you know.”
After a moment, Cynthia nodded.  “I get that.  You really should tell someone,
though.”
“No.”  His voice was firm and loud this time, demanding.  “I don’t care how
many people know what or how, but they can’t find out who.”
“What?”
“You don’t understand, Cynthia.  He’s fucking insane and the only reason I’m
even alive is because I don’t intend to tell anyone.  That you even know is...”
he shook his head, “but at least it wasn’t me who told you and maybe he won’t
find out if you don’t say anything.”
Cynthia tried to touch his hand, but he pulled away again.  “Mitch, listen to
me, your father is the chief of police, he can protect you.”
Mitch shook his head emphatically, “He can’t protect me from this.  Please?”
“Mitch, he...”
Mitch stared at her, hard and she faltered.  “Richard had this thing sometimes
where he would wrap his hands around my neck when he was... you know and he
wouldn’t choke me, he would just hold them there so that I knew he could if he
wanted to and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.  That’s who he
is.  It was all I could do just to survive there and I can’t face that again, I
can’t even take the chance that he’ll get his hands on me again, because if it
wasn’t for Paul I don’t think I would have gotten out.  So, please, please
don’t give him a reason to come after me, Cynthia.”
Cynthia wasn’t one to cry.  In fact, she could count on one hand the number of
times she had.  When her dog died, when her parents told her they were getting
divorced, when Mitch first disappeared, and when she’d been afraid the Dearings
would hate her.  That was it.  But now, hearing Mitch talk about his captivity,
begging her not to say anything, she couldn’t hold back the tears.  Wiping her
face, she finally nodded.  She didn’t want Mitch hurt and if he really thought
that this was better, maybe he was right.
“Okay, I won’t say anything.”
He nodded back to her and looked at his knees in favor of her eyes.  “Thank
you.  You know, one of the times you called Paul, I was sitting next to the
phone when it rang.”  She gaped.  “He, uh, picked it up and left the room to
answer it, but... well, it was nice to hear your voice.  It made those last few
days easier.”
Cynthia opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but a soft knock
on the door cut her off and she turned around to see Mrs. Dearing opening the
door.  She was smiling, but there was a sadness behind it.  Maybe it would be
better if everyone knew and maybe Chief Dearing could protect Mitch, but... but
maybe not and Cynthia wasn’t prepared to take that risk, especially not if it
meant breaking a promise to Mitch.
Squeezing Mitch’s hand, she stepped away from him and forced herself to look
Mrs. Dearing in the eyes and say, “I’m sorry, I was wrong,” before brushing
past her and leaving.
 
 
*****
 
 
Home.
It was strange to be sitting in his own room, but comforting.  His parents
hadn’t said a word on the drive home from the hospital, but that had been
comforting too, because the only thing anyone was interested in talking about
was who had done this to him and why wasn’t he talking.  In truth, he really
wasn’t sure why, except that he didn’t want to answer questions and he wasn’t
sure what he’d say otherwise.  Honestly, ‘hi’ seemed a bit understated.
Mitch sat on his small bed in his small room and looked at his overly cluttered
walls.  They hadn’t changed anything, hadn’t even made his bed.  Slowly, Mitch
got up and pulled the sheets and blankets up, straightening them before sitting
back down.  Better.  He eyed the Arctic Monkeys poster on the wall, overlapped
by some postcards that Cynthia had sent him when she’d gone to Italy with her
mother on a business trip, which were in turn overlapped by pictures of him and
his friends, which overlapped several other posters of half naked men.
He stretched his feet out, touching his toes to the wall.  It quelled the
nausea some, but not enough.  Standing up again, he pulled down the Abercrombie
posters, mindless of whatever else came down with them.  By the time he stopped
some ten minutes later, he was surrounded by torn paper and panting, but the
walls were bare and the sick feeling was receding.
Sitting back on the bed, he stared at the wall again.  Better, much better. 
The duffle bags and backpack were at the police station.  They were going
through them to try and find some clue as to who’d had him.  Reaching into his
pocket, he took out the mini-iPod and ran his thumb over the unscratched
display.  He’d made Paul pull over and get it out of his bag during the drive
because he’d been bored.
Cynthia had given it back to him, just before he was released from the
hospital.  Part of him wanted to throw it away, like all the other useless
things Richard had given him, but another part... another part just couldn’t
bring himself to do it.  Just like he couldn’t bring himself to take the
piercings out yet.  Laying on the bed, he plugged the iPod into his ears and
clicked it on, turning the volume up and closed his eyes.
It had been twenty four hours since Paul had sat on Richard’s large bed,
telling him that he was taking him home.  Twenty four hours, three of which
were spent driving and the rest at the hospital.  Wasn’t it incredibly ironic
that after spending so long wondering if he would be able to live through
Richard, this seemed so much harder?  He could handle Richard and the others in
that room, because he knew what to expect, he’d learned every unpleasant kink
that they had and he’d learned how to manipulate them and live through them,
but here... here he wasn’t really sure what to expect or how to please anyone.
With a sigh, he let himself slip into sleep.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul looked at his watch.  He’d dropped Mitch off exactly twenty three hours
ago.  It was two in the afternoon in California.  Where was Mitch?  Had they
taken him to the hospital?  If they had, was he home now?  Had he talked to the
police?  He closed his eyes as the plane bumped the tarmac and the roaring of
the brakes shook the plane.
If Mitch had talked to the police, there was no doubt in Paul’s mind that there
would be an armed escort waiting at the gate when he got off.  In fact, he
almost hoped there was.  What Richard had done, what they’d all done to that
kid was wrong in the deepest sense of the word and as much as he didn’t want to
go to jail for the rest of his life, he knew he deserved it.
“This is your captain.  We’ve landed at Gatwick Airport in London.  It’s eight
ten in the evening, the temperature is...”
He tuned out the sounds of people shifting in their seats, anxious to move
after thirteen hours of sitting.  Looking out the window, he tried to spot
police cars or any indication that someone was waiting for him, but there was
nothing, just the blinking lights, directing the plane.
“Please remain seated until the plane comes to a full and complete stop.  We
hope you’ve enjoyed traveling Virgin Airlines and look forward to seeing you
again.”
He nearly laughed, not really sure why he found that funny, but he did.  Maybe
it was because he’d spent the last thirteen hours imagining getting off the
plane and being escorted right back onto it to be taken back to Los Angeles for
questioning.  Of course, they could always just question him here.  It wasn’t
like Paul had any intentions of trying to withhold information.  Somewhere over
the Pacific Ocean, he’d decided that if they did arrest him, he would tell them
everything.  Hell, he’d draw a fucking diagram if that was what they wanted. 
It was the least he could do.
The plane stopped and he stood up automatically, following the other first
class passengers in getting up and pulling bags out from under the seats.  He
hadn’t stored anything in the overhead compartment.  In fact, he hadn’t brought
that much with him.  Just a suitcase with some clothes and a rolling carry-on
with his toiletries and two books.  The entire time he’d packed, he’d been
waiting for a knock on the door, for the police to burst it in, anything, but
nothing had happened, just like nothing happened when he walked off the plane.
The lobby was empty the way airports shouldn’t be, only a few stranglers stood
around, waiting for loved ones to de-board.  No police, no flashing lights, no
guns.  He blinked a few times to get his orientation and when he finally looked
around again, he saw Richard smiling and waving at him from the back of the
crowd.
Gripping his carry more on firmly, he stepped away from the people exiting and
went to Richard, his chest aching as the man instantly slipped his arms around
him in the way that had become so natural for them.  It was caring, friendly,
loving even and the kiss that followed was even more so.  Of course, the kiss
caught Paul a little of guard, but he melted into it out of instinct and sighed
happily at the sweep of tongue around his mouth.
Richard pulled back, but kept his arms slung low around Paul’s waist, looking
at him with that cocky smile that said everything was going to be all right and
it was, wasn’t it?  The police hadn’t picked him up at home and they weren’t
here waiting for him.  Mitch hadn’t told anyone yet and probably never would,
stupid kid that he was.
“How was the flight?”
Paul ignored the stares they were getting.  “Horrid.  I sat next to the
smelliest man god ever had the audacity to create and no one should be forced
to sit in those seats for that long.”
Richard chuckled and his arms slid away, his hand taking Paul’s and starting to
lead him away, probably towards the luggage carousel.  “On the way back we’ll
take a private jet, just you and me and we’ll join the mile high club.”
It was nice to be with Richard again, it made all of his problems and doubts
float away.  Richard always took care of everything and especially now, with
Mitch gone, it felt right again.  “Is that a promise?”
Richard stopped for a moment and pecked him on the lips.  “I always keep my
promises, love.”
Love, that was such a nice word, a comforting word.  It didn’t even matter that
it probably hadn’t been meant as anything more than a silly endearment. The
driver had already secured Paul’s bag by the time they got there and they
followed him into the waited limo.  Richard looked at the suitcase warily. 
“That’s all you brought?  You’re allowed two, you know.”
Paul shrugged.  “It really doesn’t matter, does it?  I’ll be spending most of
time in wardrobe and anyway, if I need anything, you can buy it for me.”
Richard raised an eyebrow and crawled in after Paul, sitting down next to him. 
“Maybe I won’t buy you anything.  Maybe I’ll make you run around the flat naked
all day.”
Paul’s cheeks heated up and his pants tighten, but a cough from the driver
ruined the moment.  Richard sat back and pulled on his seat belt.  “Go ahead,
we’re ready.”  He turned to Paul. “They’ve got us a flat five minutes walk from
the studio.  It’s huge, actually, and it’s just for us.  Two bedrooms,
furnished with a television, cable, and a computer room complete with two
computers and high speed internet.  You’ll love it.”
They’d barely made it off airport property when Richard’s phone went off and
Paul was instantly light headed as he heard the familiar voice gruffly calling,
“Shut up and pick up.”
Richard cursed, “What the fuck?”  He picked up the phone, “What?  Say that
again.  You’re sure?  He isn’t just hiding or something?  You check under
the... no, I’m not saying you’re stupid, but how else...”  There was a long
pause and Paul could feel Richard’s eyes sliding towards him.  “I’ll call you
back.”
The limo filled with silence and Paul closed his eyes.  He didn’t think Richard
would hurt him, but still...
“Driver, pull over.”
“Sir, I can’t, I’m on the motorway...”
“Then get off the fucking motorway and pull over!”
The driver mumbled something unintelligible and Paul tried to get his thoughts
together, tried to decide what he was going to say.  As soon as the car stopped
at the back parking lot of a small restaurant, Richard grabbed Paul’s arm and
dragged him out of the car, not bothering to wait until he had his feet under
him.
“Where is he?”
“I...”  Paul gulped and shoved his hands in his jeans, looking at the ground. 
Christ, he was a moron, what had he been thinking?  Mitch’s face swam in front
of his eyes and he nodded minutely.  He’d done the right thing.  He’d done
exactly what Richard had done with every one of the other boys and just like
with them, Mitch hadn’t told.  “I took him home.”
“You what?!”  Richard’s face contorted with rage far greater than Paul had ever
seen.  “Are you fucking stupid?!”  He lunged forward and beat his fist against
the top of the car next to Paul.  “What were you thinking?!  I told you Jessie
would take care of it.  All you had to do was leave him there and get on a god
damned plane!”
“I know!”  Paul sighed and looked at Richard.  “I know what you wanted me to
do, but I couldn’t.  Richard, he’s fifteen, he deserved to go home, just like
all the others...”
“The others did not go home, Paul!  Don’t be an idiot, because I know you’re
not. You live in this fucking fantasy world and maybe that’s my fault some, but
it’s mostly yours.   I can’t let them just go home, Paul, they would tell, or
someone would investigate and find out.”
Paul’s blood froze and he opened his mouth to say something, but Richard put a
hand over it and leaned in, keeping his voice low so the driver couldn’t hear. 
“‘Take them home’ means that I pack their bags, I put them in my car and I meet
Jessie in a very remote part of the country where he will have dug a convenient
grave four feet deep.  I strangle them and I bury them with their things and no
one ever finds them.”
An image played in the back of Paul’s head.  Duncan, practically jumping up and
down with joy at the idea getting to go home.  He must have known pretty
quickly that Richard wasn’t taking him to his dorm.  Had he tried to fight? 
Somehow, Paul didn’t think so, but if he did, it would have been easy enough
for Richard to overpower him.  That was how all the fights with Duncan had
gone.  The boy would start struggling and Richard would just pin him and hold
him in place until he gave up.  He could almost hear Duncan’s voice, tight with
barely contained excitement, “You do mean it, right?  You’re taking me home? 
Promise?”
Suddenly, Paul’s stomach heaved and he pushed Richard away from him and ran to
the curb, throwing up in the grass before dropped to his knees, panting.
They were dead, every single one of them and it was as much his fault as
Richard’s, because he’d never bothered to care.  Paul vaguely remembered
Richard with a black eye and several other bruises when he’d come back from
taking Greg home and he knew, without even knowing the boy that well, that Greg
would have fought, like he had from day one.  Richard had said that Greg had
just been a little scared, but that he’d given him something for his nerves and
everything had been smooth after that.
Andrew, Derick, Toby, William... and Mitch would have joined them in their
unmarked graves if Paul hadn’t... 
He sicked up again, until there wasn’t anything left and when he finally sat
back on his heels, he knew that Richard was right next to him.  “Since the
police haven’t come to pick me up, yet, I’m going to assume that sweet little
Mitchell-dear has kept his cock-sucking mouth shut.  For your sake and mine,
let’s hope it stays that way.”
That tone, he’d never heard that deadly calm from Richard before.  There wasn’t
any humor, any love, any caring at all.  It was cold and hard.  He nodded
shakily and Richard helped him up, his grip too firm as he pushed Paul back in
the car.  Paul put his head down as Richard told the driver to hurry.
“Sit back and relax, Paul.  We’ll do our thing and in a month we go home and
I’ll take care of your little mess.”
God, what was he going to do?
***** Chapter 14 *****
“Mitchell-dear.” He keeps his eyes closed against the voice that slips into his
ears and invades his senses. Richard turns him onto his back and puts a leg
over one of Mitch’s, running his hand up the inside of his thigh and bypassing
Mitch’s groin in favor of sliding up his shirt.
“I know you’re awake, Mitchell-dear.”
He whimpers and moves his hands to push Richard’s away, but it doesn’t deter
him. He hadn’t really expected it to. Richard pushes his shirt up, ignoring his
protests as he dips his tongue into Mitch’s belly button and pulls his pants
off. Mitch knows that Richard is already naked by the feel the man’s legs
against his.
When Richard touches the undersides of his knees, Mitch automatically lifts his
legs, gritting his teeth against anything his traitorous throat might give
away. Richard props Mitch’s legs on his broad shoulder and slides his already
slick cock into him. It doesn’t hurt like it should, like it used it. Not that
it doesn’t hurt at all, but Mitch can’t decide which he prefers, the perverse
pleasure he body gets from this, or the fiery pain.
Richard moves slowly inside him and Mitch doesn’t have to open his eyes to know
that Richard is drinking in his facial expressions, enjoying every flinch and
gasp and twitch. “Uhn.” He bites his lip to hold back the noise, because if he
lets go, he knows he’ll start pleading and he hates that Richard gets off on
that more than the fucking.
A hand moves from his hip up his body and he knows what’s coming before Richard
does it. The fingers wrap around the base of his throat, not tightening, put
pressing in softly. Mitch opens his mouth to take a deep breath. Richard’s
never tightened the grip, he’s never actually choked Mitch, but sometimes his
fingers shift like they want to.
Richard leans closer, still fucking him almost lazily. “Beg me, Mitchell-dear.
Beg me for it.”
“Please.” Mitch can’t stop himself from speaking now, the words pour out of his
mouth. “Please stop, please!”
“Not like that, love. You know better.”
“P... please f... fuck me.” It hurts to say it, but if he doesn’t, Richard can
make this go on for what feels like forever and he knows it.
The only response he gets is a deep throated chuckle and Richard sits up,
fucking him harder, faster, his fingers shifting in that threatening way and
Mitch knows he’s crying, wishes he could stop it, but he can’t. “Please,
please, please...” He’s ignored like he knows he will be, but it doesn’t stop
him from continuing the litany, because now that he’s started, he can’t stop
and he’s shaking... no, someone’s shaking him...
Instinctively, he lashed out, opening his eyes as his fist hit something solid
and scooting back against his wall in disorienting terror. He’d hit Richard, oh
god, he hadn’t mean to, but he had, he’d hit... Frank? Slowly, everything
started to come back to him and the roaring in his ears died down, leaving him
to the harsh panting of his brother, who was doubled over with a hand on his
stomach.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
His memory was always a little slow to come back first thing in the morning and
he flushed bright pink. He’d been home for a week, but it still didn’t feel
real, he still expected to wake up back in Richard’s room. The only good thing
was that he’d stopped talking in his sleep. The first time his mom had woken
him up, she’d been horrified and it had taken him several hours to learn that
she’d come into him tossing and turning on the bed, begging someone to stop.
“Merry Christmas.” It really was like a dream, being home for Christmas. He
hadn’t thought he would be, but he’d hoped, and then Paul had said definitely
not and he’d given up on that, only to be sent home. It was unreal at best, but
he’d take what he could get, even if it was a dream.
Frank had come back from school the moment he’d heard Mitch was home, taking
only three hours for a four hour drive. It was a miracle he hadn’t been pulled
over. His brother sat on the bed next to him and Mitch unconsciously shifted so
that they weren’t touching. One of the many side effects of his captivity was
that Mitch didn’t like being touched. He’d thought that would fade with a few
days, but it had only gotten stronger. The other day his father had given him a
hug and he’d nearly had a panic attack.
Still, he couldn’t avoid it altogether. Frank patted his shoulder. “How are you
doing today?”
It was the same question as every morning and it earned the same answer.
“Okay.”
“Well, then, we’d better get you out of bed.” He lowered his voice and leaned
in conspiratorially. “Mom’s fixed the biggest breakfast I have ever seen.
There’s three different kinds of jelly, two breads, plus biscuits, grits,
scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and a tray of fruit. That and I think
she’s hiding something, I smelled pie this morning, but I didn’t see any on the
table. ”
Mitch couldn’t help laughing. “She’s gone insane.”
Breakfast at his home was generally two slices of toast, buttered if they
weren’t in a hurry, and a glass of soda. Other than his mother, no one ever got
out of bed in time to sit down for a meal and with his father on the force,
there never were any real holidays. This was the first Christmas that the
entire family had been home and didn’t have anywhere else to be. Actually, his
dad had wanted to go in, they were still reviewing the evidence in Mitch’s case
and he’d wanted to help, but his co-workers had threatened to lock him out of
the building.
With a grin, Mitch pushed the covers back and slid off the bed. Frank got up as
well and ruffled his brother’s hair before stepping out to let Mitch get
changed. Before, Mitch had always slept in only his underpants, not bothering
with pajamas or even a t-shirt. Now, he went to bed fully dressed, covering
every part of him that he could. His mom had actually gone and bought him three
sets of full pajamas so that he didn’t have to sleep in his jeans, but he
couldn’t bring himself to wear them. Not yet, anyway.
The moment he stepped out, he knew Frank was telling the truth about breakfast.
The entire house smelled of food and he could hear voices coming from the
kitchen. He froze as he took in the scene at his kitchen table. It wasn’t just
his mom and dad and Frank, but Cynthia was there with her mom, and Ron too,
talking animatedly about the weather and how wonderful all the food looked.
Cynthia was the first to notice him. Her smile faltered, but she immediately
put it back on. “Morning, Mitch!”
He smiled back at her and stepped forward into the room. His stomach twisted as
he sat down, everyone staring at him. For a moment, it felt like he was back
with Richard, at one of his parties when everyone suddenly decided they wanted
entertainment and all eyes were on him, because he was the entertainment. He
was going to be sick. Oh, please don’t let him be sick.
He looked down, pulling his tongue ring between his teeth nervously. Please
make them stop staring. Please, please, please...
“Mrs. Dearing, this smells wonderful. Could you pass me the hash-browns?”
Cynthia. Wonderful Cynthia. Mitch looked up, smiling at her in thanks. She
winked, but Frank wasn’t paying attention.
“There are hash-browns?!”
He laughed silently, just one convulsive shake of his chest.
His mother frowned at Frank reprovingly. “Don’t be silly, Frank.”
“I’m silly?! You’re the one whose gone crazy.” He dodged a glancing blow from
his father to the back of his head. “Can I have a Coke?”
His mother passed him a container of orange juice. “You could have had a Coke,
until you decided to mouth off. Now drink your juice and stop complaining.” It
was said scornfully, but there was a humor behind it that made Mitch smile and
relax.
After breakfast they moved to the living room, where everyone sat around,
talking about what they were going to do that evening. Cynthia, however,
watched Mitch. He sat a careful distance from everyone and his mouth kept
moving, as if he was chewing on something. She’d spent the whole week trying to
figure out what she should do - if she should go against Mitch and tell
everything, or keep her promise and stay silent. More than once she’d been
driven nearly to tears, but until she was certain she was doing the right
thing, she wasn’t going to do anything.
“Mitch, you want to come outside with me?”
He looked up at her, his face startled, but nodded and Mitch got up. Mrs.
Dearing got up as well, but then slowly sat back down. “Be careful and don’t
forget your coat.”
Mitch nodded, but didn’t say anything as he took his coat off the hook next to
the door and pulled it on over his shirt. Cynthia closed the door behind them
and leaned against it, looking at her friend. He had lost a good deal of weight
when he’d been gone and according to her mother, who was keeping in close
contact with the Dearings, he still hadn’t been able to put any on. Even at
breakfast, she’d watched him only pick at his food, eating little and saying
nothing.
“Let’s go for a walk around the block.” He didn’t argue, just followed her, his
eyes down, but his head up, which was an improvement, however small. She didn’t
speak again until they’d gotten to the street and she was sure that no one
could hear her. “So, what’s in your mouth?”
He looked over at her and she shrugged. “You’ve been messing with something for
the past hour. Not that I blame you, I’m sure it beats listening to the drivel
that passes as conversation between adults.”
For a moment, she was afraid she’d said something wrong, because Mitch stopped
walking, but when she looked up he was smiling. “Thanks.”
She nodded and they started walking again. After a few feet, he turned to her
and stuck out his tongue and she gasped. A tongue ring?! No one had said
anything about a tongue ring! “Oh, my god!”
Mitch nodded, pulling it back in and continuing to walk. For a moment, Cynthia
couldn’t think, then she regained herself and caught up with him. “When did you
get a tongue ring?”
“Richard.” She stiffened, but at least she remembered to keep walking this
time. “I was gonna take it out, but...” he pulled on it and she flinched at the
harsh sound of metal on teeth. “I got used it after a while. It’s something to
do. Like fidgeting, only people don’t notice it as much.”
They walked in silence for a little while and Cynthia was just beginning to
think she should say something when Mitch perked up. “How’s Mark?”
“Oh, he, uh... he’s fine.” She kicked a frozen rock into the snow. “He’s been
calling me all week, can’t wait to see you.” After a second, she found herself
chuckling. “When you went missing, he was more of a wreck than I was. He kept
bursting into tears in class.”
Mitch laughed, “He’s such a drama queen.”
“Right? Eventually they sent him home, but I really wasn’t interested in
keeping tabs on him. I, um, haven’t really been to school in a... hm, a while,
now, but I talked to Sandra and she said he puts on a good face, but whenever
he thinks no one is paying attention he looks really sad.”
Mitch nodded, but he was still smiling. “You haven’t been to school?”
She nodded, “Yeah, I went to Los Angeles to look for you, but you know that.”
He shrugged, “You could tell me more.”
Slowly, she nodded, “Okay.” And she told him everything, in detail. She told
him about Chris, the bartender, and waking up in his apartment and how he’d
been really sweet to her and watched out for her when she was at Humps. She
explained how he’d taken her to Fizzy’s and how she’d met Paul there and ended
up in bed with him.
“So, you really did sleep with him?”
“Not one of my prouder moments, I’ll admit, but you know, he called me and I
was already kind of drunk and one thing led to another and eventually it all
led back to my room at my dad’s flat.”
“The room with the white furniture and the little flowers?”
She cringed, “Right? I swear I’m making my dad paint over that the next chance
I get.” As she told the rest of the story, they continued to walk, never
straying from sight of Mitch’s house, and Mitch listened to her, intent on
hearing everything she had to say. By the time she finished, they’d walked
twice around and her cheeks were flushed, but Mitch was still smiling. It was a
little secretive, perhaps, and she got the feeling that maybe she didn’t
understand exactly why he was smiling, but seeing it made her feel warm.
Without thinking, she lunged to the side and wrapped her arms around him and
she was surprised when he returned the favor, hugging her back. “I’m so glad
you’re here. I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”
Mitch choked up, but more than that, he was confused. The past week his parents
had kept him locked in the house, insisting that he needed rest. He hadn’t seen
Cynthia, even though he’d asked if he could. Seeing her now had been a relief,
like he could let his guard down. He’d thought that would mean crying or being
angry, but in reality it meant he could smile and when she’d hugged him, he
hadn’t flinched. In fact, it had felt good and comforting and he had never been
so glad to have someone near him in his life.
He thought perhaps it was something about Cynthia. She was his best friend, she
knew all his dark secrets, including this one and that meant that while
everyone else was sitting, watching him for any clues as to what he was
thinking, or what he had been through, Cynthia didn’t have to ask, because she
just knew.
They stood like that for a while and when they finally parted, it was because
the wind had picked up again and they were both shivering. Cynthia dusted a
fallen leaf off her jacket. “Let’s get inside before they start looking for
us.”
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch had always hated psychiatrists. They were like slimy worms that tried to
get into people’s heads and rummage around until they found what they wanted.
His boyfriend, Mark, had been going to a psychiatrist, because his parents
thought he was depressed, turned out he was just a drama queen, but it took
them a year and several thousand dollars for the psychiatrist to make that
diagnosis.
So, overall, Mitch felt it was a testament to how much he loved his parents and
how thankful he was to be home that he was sitting in an oversized, navy blue
chair in the office of Dr. Chang, listening to the psychobabble for the third
time. “Tell me about Mitchell-dear.”
Mitch fought off a scowl and concentrated on tracing the pattern on the chair.
“That’s my name.”
“No, your name is Mitchell Dearing.”
He did scowl this time. “That’s my pet name.”
Dr. Chang put his hands in his lap, templing his fingers thoughtfully. “From
whom?”
Looking at the man, Mitch stared for several moments before he finally sighed
and gave in. As long as he didn’t give any names, it couldn’t hurt anything,
right? “Him.”
“The man who held you captive?”
He found himself flinching involuntarily at the word ‘captive,’ but nodded. “He
never called me anything else.”
“Why do you suppose he had that put on the piercing?”
“Because it was a little less obvious that ‘Property Of’, because if he’d put
his name it would have been incriminating, because he’s a sick fuck? You’re the
psychiatrist, you figure it out.”
He’d changed his mind, talking was a stupid idea. He was going to give
something away if he didn’t watch himself. Looking at the clock behind him, he
sighed. Another twenty minutes of this shit. Not that that really meant
anything. Dr. Chang always scheduled Mitch as his last patient of the day, just
in case he needed more time. Stupid fucking psychiatrist.
“Let’s talk about television.” What? “Your parents tell me you have an adverse
reaction to watching television. They say you’d rather sit in your room and
stare at the walls than join the family in watching the evening news. Why is
that?”
Damn it, he hadn’t realized it had been so obvious. “It’s all I had to do
there. I just sat on the bed and watched television for hours on end until I
couldn’t even remember what I was watching anymore.”
“Did you watch the news?”
He started to shake his head, then stopped. “I wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t
like it when I cried and I usually did after watching the news, so he
threatened to block all the channels if he caught me at it again. Sometimes I’d
do it anyway, P...” careful, “one of his friends didn’t mind so much if I
cried, so if I knew he was coming to keep an eye on me, I’d watch a little,
but... well, there wasn’t really any point after a while.”
Dr. Chang nodded and Mitch found himself scowling again. “So, there was more
than one.”
Fuck. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Sit down, Mitch.”
Without thinking, Mitch obeyed. Oh, god, he’d said something stupid, he’d known
this was a bad idea. “Tell me about his friend.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“I can’t make you.”
The room got quiet and Mitch put his head down on his knees. “His friend was...
nice. I liked him. He talked to me and he was kind and he didn’t hurt me like
the others.”
“More than two, then.”
Mitch closed his eyes against the fabric of his jeans and gave up just a
little. He needed to talk so badly. He’d considered telling this to Cynthia,
but she’d been so emotional lately, that he was afraid he’d upset her. Maybe it
was the aftershocks of all they’d been through, because they’d both been a
little loopy in the emotional department.
“Yeah, five of his friends. They’d come over and he’d give them stuff, drugs,
then they’d force me to take them too and they’d take turns fucking me until
they got tired of it. He called them parties.” He could feel the tears pricking
his eyes and he clenched his hand in his hair, pulling it to ground himself so
he wouldn’t cry. “His friend, the one I was talking about, he didn’t like that.
He went along with it for a while, but then he stopped. He didn’t like it.”
Dr. Chang tapped the end of his pencil on his notepad. “Sounds like a decent
fellow.”
Mitch looked up sharply. “Don’t be sarcastic, he is. He does what R... what he
tells him to. He just doesn’t know any different and stop making that noise!”
The pencil stopped, but Mitch had already gotten up from his seat. “I have to
go.”
He ignored the doctor’s protests and walked out of the office, brushing past
his mother and father as they stood up. He needed air, he needed to get outside
and clear his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father start after
him, but his mom held him back. Silently, he thanked her, because he wasn’t
sure what he would say just now. He was so... so angry and it wasn’t at them.
It was at Richard for being a sick fucking bastard; it was at Paul for not
doing anything sooner, for making him go through months of that before he
finally decided to drop him off at home with a kiss and a ‘be well’; it was at
himself for being too terrified to tell anyone who had done this to him,
because he knew, he knew that his father could protect him, but the thought
that he’d have to see Richard again, even if it was in a courtroom or a line up
made him physically ill. So, he didn’t say anything and he tried to move past
it, but it wasn’t helping.
A woman was standing outside, wearing a black, business suit and high heals.
She had just pulled out a cigarette and was fumbling with her lighter. Mitch
bit his lip nervously and shifted his feet. Fuck it. “Mind if I have one?”
She looked at him for a moment, before giving a half laugh. “Right, like I’m
giving smokes to a fourteen-year-old..”
“Fifteen.” Mitch leaned against the building dejectedly. “Would it make any
difference if I said I was Mitchell Dearing?”
She stopped and gawked at him, surprised. “That kid from the news? The one who
went missing?” He nodded, but continued to stare at the ground. A moment later
a lit cigarette was shoved under his nose and he looked up, startled. “Go on,
kid, I’m sure you’ve earned it.”
“Thanks.” He took it and pulled the smoke into his mouth happily. It wasn’t
Paul’s brand, but as he puffed on it, he could feel his muscles unwinding. “So,
are you a patient here?”
With a casual shake of her head, she finished lighting her own cigarette and
put her box away. “Dr. Reeves, actually.”
He frowned and took another deep breath of tobacco and nicotine. There were too
many doctors in this damned place. Of course, this one had given him a
cigarette and he could hardly find fault with that.
She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the pitying, placating smiles he had gotten
used to over the past two weeks, it was genuine. “What about you? Who are you
here to see?” He hesitated and her eyes brightened. “No, let me guess. Dr.
Chang?” At his surprise, her smile became amused. “He works closely with the
police around here and I just remembered who your father is. He’d only want to
best for his son.”
Guilt stabbed at Mitch’s stomach. “I know, but I don’t like doctors and I
just... I don’t know what I can tell him. I’m sure he tells my parents
everything I say.”
Dr. Reeves sat down on one of the benches and patted the seat next to her.
“Actually, Mitch, he can’t.”
“What?” Slowly he sat down, careful to keep a good two feet between them.
“Doctor patient confidentiality.”
“But... you said he works for the police, why would he do that if he wasn’t
telling them things?”
“He tells them things, but not like that.” She handed him a fresh cigarette and
he thanked her again. “This isn’t an interrogation. Especially in your case, if
he doesn’t have anything concrete, he’s not going to break your trust.”
“Really?”
“Really. If he suspected child abuse, he’d have to tell, but they already know
about that. From what I’ve heard through the grapevine, the doctors have all
the evidence they need, even without your testimony. The details you tell him
in there, that’s between you and him. The only thing he’s obligated to take to
the police at this point is if you give him a name.”
It was tempting, to be able to talk to someone, to tell them everything and
just get it off his chest and not have to hold it inside. Hell, it was more
than just tempting, it was like holding food in front of someone who was
starving and asking if they wanted it. Besides all that, he didn’t have to give
a last name, did he? Just Richard and there were plenty of people named Richard
out there.
Throwing his cigarette down, he stepped on it and stood up, thrusting his hands
in his pockets as he turned to her. “Thanks.”
She smiled, but didn’t say anything else as he walked off, back into the
building and up the stairs to the first floor, where his parents were standing
in the lobby, talking to Dr. Chang with concern on their faces.
“I’ll talk to you.” They looked over, surprised, not having noticed him enter
and he gulped, feeling his bravado quickly dying down into meek need. “You
can’t tell anyone what I say, right? It’s between me and you?”
Slowly, Dr. Chang nodded and Mitch tried to ignore the relief that he saw in
his parents faces as he stepped past them to stand next to the doctor. “Then,
okay.”
Dr. Chang nodded and motioned for Mitch to follow him, before turning to his
parents. “Why don’t you head on home, Henry, I’ll make sure he gets back
safely.”
Mitch’s father nodded and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, turning her
towards the exit. Mitch watch the door close behind him, leaving him the office
with Dr. Chang and instead of the heavy, trapped feeling he usually got in such
situations, he was surprised to find that he felt remarkably relaxed.
 
 
*****
 
 
No one was more surprised by how quickly Mitch recovered than himself. He’d
expected that talking would make a difference, but he hadn’t expected it to be
like this. Another week had flown by, he’d had two more sessions with Dr. Chang
and after each one he felt more and more like himself. Oh, he still didn’t like
being touched, but he no longer shuddered violently when someone hugged him. He
still didn’t like to watch television, but doing so no longer gave him
flashbacks of sitting on Richard’s bed, waiting for the ‘fun’ to begin. He
still didn’t like crowds, but there were no panic attacks at the mere thought
of going to the grocery store with his mom.
In fact, he was ready to take the next step. At least, he thought he was.
“Mitch, are you okay?”
He turned to Cynthia, who was standing next to him, her heavy backpack weighing
on her shoulder as she stood on the steps to the school, waiting for him to
follow her. Oh shit, he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped. The school looked
large and imposing, but that in itself wasn’t the problem. The problem was the
multitude of faces that he could see peering down at him from the various
classrooms.
He could do this, he could do this.
Relief washed over him as Cynthia took his arm and lowered her voice so that
the few people still trickling past them wouldn’t hear. “If you’re not ready,
it’s okay. I’ll walk you back home.”
It was tempting, but not as much as he’d thought it would be. Truth was that he
was tired of sitting in his room with nothing to do but listen to music and
read. He had to get out and the only place his parents were going to let him go
on his own was school. Besides, he was already so behind on his work that he’d
have to go with Cynthia to tutoring sessions for the rest of the year and
probably even summer school. If he waited any longer, they’d hold him back.
“No, I’m all right.” She didn’t let go, just turned around and started walking
again, dragging him with her.
He could do this. He could do this. He could...
“Mitch!” He hadn’t even had time to recognize the voice before the whirlwind of
arms hit him from behind, wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Someone was
behind his. Someone was holding him. A man’s crotch was digging into his
backside. Instinctively, he thrust his elbow back and stepped down on the foot
of the person behind him, diving forward in an attempt to get away.
The arms instantly let go and he careened towards the ground, caught by
Cynthia, who blessedly stopped him from falling face first onto the brick
walkway. He stood panting, gripping her arms, while she admonished his
attacker.
“What the fuck, Mark?”
Mitch twisted half around and, sure enough, there was Mark, looking hurt and
confused by Mitch’s attack and Cynthia’s criticism. “I wasn’t doing anything,
just saying hi.”
“It’s okay, Cyn.” Mitch forced himself to stand straight and face his
boyfriend. There was nothing intimidating about Mark, really. He was about as
tall as Mitch, with short, closely cropped brown hair and wide, trusting eyes.
He was, perhaps, slightly broader than Mitch, but that had never been
intimidating before. But, then, that was before. All of the progress he’d made
seemed to fall apart in the face of the one person he had avoided seeing since
his return three weeks ago. “Um, hi, Mark.”
As far as Mitch’s parents were concerned, the fewer people who knew the
details, the better and as far as Mitch was concerned, well... he just hadn’t
really thought about it at all. It wasn’t fair to Mark, maybe, but that was the
way it was.
Mitch picked his backpack up off the ground and looked bashfully around at the
people who had stopped to watch the display. So much for pretending nothing was
wrong. “Sorry about that, you, uh, caught me off guard.”
“Figured that.” Mark rubbed his abdomen and Mitch cringed. “You’ve been
avoiding my calls.”
“I’m sorry about that, too.”
An awkward silence stretched between them and finally Mark couldn’t take it.
“Can I walk you to class?”
Cynthia looked at Mitch questioningly, but he nodded. She really didn’t need to
worry. Mark was the kind of over-sensitive person who, quite literally, could
not hurt a fly. He had accidentally sat on a beetle once and nearly broke down
into tears over it. Still, Mark didn’t know what had happened and he might say
something or do something unintentionally.
As they started into the school, Mitch thought about the billions of things he
needed to say to Mark, some he even wanted to say, but the one that came out
hadn’t even really been on his list. “I saw you on television with Cynthia. You
know, the first day. She started crying and you helped her. Thanks for taking
care of her for me.”
Mark chuckled, “At least someone recognizes my good intentions. Cyn practically
bit my head off not two minutes later, said she didn’t need my help.”
Cynthia playfully punched Mark on the arm. “Fuck off, Marcus.”
With a push of his own, Mark stuck out his tongue, “Cynthia.”
“Marcus.”
“Cynthia.”
Mitch laughed and they both turned to him.
It was like old times, Cynthia and Mark had always fought like bother and
sister, which was good, because they also got along just as well. A hand
slipped into his, Marks, and Mitch tensed. He could do this. He could do this.
He was on the floor of Richard’s room, tears running down his cheeks. Richard
was holding his hand, trying to pull him to his feet to continue dragging him
to the bathroom. “Please, Richard, please?” He couldn’t do it, not again, not
so soon. He was still so sore from the night before.
“Get up, Mitchell-dear.”
Mitch shook his head desperately. “No, no, no...”
Richard leaned down, still not letting go of his hand and dropped his voice to
a deadly rumble. “Either get up and follow me into the bathroom or I will fuck
you dry over the bed.”
Mitch stopped breathing. As much as he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and
follow Richard into the bathroom to let himself be fucked, he couldn’t give
Richard a reason to do that, either. He moaned pitiably, but forced himself to
his feet and let Richard drag him along by his hand.
Mark squeezed his hand and smiled at him.
Richard was leaning over him, sucking on the junction of his neck and shoulder.
He was fully dressed, but Mitch was naked and he was trembling under the
covers. He lifted his hands, clenching his fingers around Richard’s broad
shoulders. He had no intentions of pushing him away, but Richard wasn’t in the
mood to put up with even the most passive of resistance.
He moved the hand that was holding Mitch’s head to the side and used it to pull
Mitch’s hand above his head slipping his fingers into Mitch’s, squeezing them.
It wasn’t a slap in the face, it wasn’t a verbal threat, it wasn’t even a
glare, nothing about Richard’s movements even hinted that it had been a
warning, but Mitch knew it was.
Suddenly, Mitch pulled his hand away from Mark and stared down at it, pale and
shaky. Cynthia had seen it coming, but it had happened so quickly that she
hadn’t been able to do anything about it. One moment they were walking into the
school, Mitch’s head held high, even if his eyes were slightly downcast. Then
Mark had surreptitiously slipped a hand into Mitch’s and she’d watched her
friends face go from pale to paler and then slightly green before he’d pulled
away, shaking.
Not good. She moved between them quickly, ignoring Mark’s indignant cry.
“Mitch?”
Mitch jerked away from her, stepping back a little before looking up, locking
eyes on Mark and shaking his head. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” He looked at
Cynthia, “I’m really, really sorry.” Before turning around and darting off away
from the school.
Cynthia cursed heavily. At least she’d worn sneakers. She’d just turned to bolt
when Mark grabbed her arm. Stopping, she turned on him sharply. It was
understandable that he was upset, but she didn’t need to be held up. Mitch was
a damn fast runner and she needed to catch up to him.
“Not right now, Mark.”
He narrowed his eyes and she sensed a tantrum. “If not now, when? I’m tired of
being kept in the dark.”
“Mark...”
“No! He’s my boyfriend...”
“And he’s my best friend! If you wanted to help him so badly, you should have
ditched school and come with me Los Angeles! I’m not giving you answers you
don’t need to questions you don’t even know to ask!”
“That’s not fair. You didn’t tell me what you were doing, or I would have...”
“You would have stopped me, you lily prancing ass. You would have told on me
and I would have been stuck here with you and Mitch might still be there in
that... that hell. Now let me go!”
He did let her go, but she thought it might have been more from shock than an
answer to her demand. Quickly, she ran after Mitch. He was well out of sight by
now, but she knew where he was going. Rounding the corner, she saw him crouched
on the sidewalk, his head on his knees. She came to a halt and her heavily
laden bag pressed against her back, tipping her forward so that she lost her
balance and tripped over her own feet, falling onto her knees with bone
grinding force.
“Shit!” That hurt.
Mitch looked up, his eyes red and puffy. “Cyn?”
She did her best to smile through her grimace as she sat up and brushed off her
scraped shins. “You okay?”
He shook his head and she sat next to him, concentrating on the cold ground
pressed against her ass instead of the burning pain of her knees. She didn’t
say anything, just sat there and after a moment, Mitch sat back as well and put
his head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I ran. For a moment... for a moment I was
back there with Richard and I couldn’t... I just couldn’t.”
Cynthia nodded and put her head down on top of his. “It’s okay, Mitch. I’ll
talk to Mark.”
“No. I should. I just don’t think I’m ready to yet.”
In the distance, the school bell tolled and Cynthia sighed. “You know what,
Mitch?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to go back to school, either.”
“Hm.”
“You know what else?”
“What?”
She wondered if she should say what she was thinking. It might burden him, make
him feel guilty, but if there was anyone she could tell this too, it would be
Mitch. “I, um... I think I’m pregnant.”
He pulled away so fast she nearly fell to the side and she gave him a rueful
smile. “Are you serious?”
Cynthia nodded, “Yeah. I’m two weeks over due and... well, you’ve seen me
lately. I’m an emotional train wreck.”
Mitch couldn’t think of anything to say. If Cynthia was pregnant, then it was
Paul’s, because she sure as hell hadn’t slept with anyone else. He looked down
at the ground for a minute and finally looked back up at her. “You should tell
him.”
She nodded, “I will.” Then she stood up.  “Come on, my ass is wet and there’s
some daytime drama that’s just begging to be watched. We’ll have your mom make
us pancakes.”
He laughed, but took her arm thankfully and let her pull him up, looking
inconspicuously at her stomach. It might not be such a bad thing.
***** Chapter 15 *****
“So, this makes us friends, right?”
Cynthia? Paul moaned and pushed himself up on his elbows, but Richard was
already up, reaching for the phone on the bedside table, fumbling with it.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.
“So, this ma...”
“’llo?” Paul listened intently, trying to hear what Cynthia was saying, but her
voice was low. “No, this is Richard, his life partner.”
There was a pause and then the light of the phone came on indicating that
Cynthia had hung up. Richard blinked and looked at the display for a minute
before flipping it closed and setting it back down. “Who’s Cynthia?”
Paul scowled and laid back down, ignoring the question. A moment later a hand
fisted in his hair, pulling his head up again. “Who. Is. Cynthia?”
“Chick. I met. At the club.”
Richard smiled lazily, and kissed him firmly on the lips. “See, that wasn’t so
hard, was it?” He got out of the bed and ambled towards the bathroom, leaving
the door open while he took a piss.
Paul rolled over and sat up, leaning against the wall. The past three weeks had
been utter hell. He’d always thought he knew Richard. No matter what anyone
said, he knew Richard, but the truth was he didn’t. He knew nothing and after
these last three weeks, he was beginning to understand. Richard was fucking
crazy. That was all there was to it.
The cell phones had both been locked with new passwords. Richard never left him
alone, eating with him, sleeping with him, driving with him. When they were on
the set he insisted that they always be on set together and Richard never
allowed him to take his wallet with him, so even if he did try and make a run
for it, he had no money and he certainly didn’t have a car. What made it worse
was that Paul was terrified to even try to leave. Not because he thought
Richard would hurt him, but because if he was out of his sight, Richard might
skip town as well, heading back to Los Angeles to take care of his little
problem.
The shower turned on and Paul sighed, pushing himself off the bed. He’d barely
taken two steps toward the bedroom door when he heard Richard calling for him.
“Paul, get in here. You need a shower.”
“I need sex” was left out, but it was there, none the less. That was another
thing that Paul had never realized about Richard. He’d known that he liked it
hard and rough, but he hadn’t realized the sheer sadistic pleasure that Richard
took from his victims and that was what Paul felt like now. He was just another
victim and the worst part was he had no doubt that if Richard thought he was
losing control over him, Paul really would be another one of his boys, dead in
an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.
He sighed and shrugged it off. He’d had enough sex with Richard that he could
deal with this. No matter how vicious and rough, he could grit his teeth and
take it. The only thing he had trouble with as he braced his palms on the wet
tile of the huge standing shower and accepted the feel of Richard’s hands on
him body, opening him with spit and a finger, was the realization that Mitch
had been in his place. Little, sheepish Mitch with the hesitant smile and heart
stopping laugh had been pressed against a shower and fucked ruthlessly and
without care until he’d bled.
Fifteen minutes later, he cringed as he pulled on his jeans over his still wet
legs. It was four in the morning and they had an hour before they had to be on
set, but Richard figured that since they were up, they might as well get an
early start. It was going to be a long three hours for Richard and him in
makeup.
Richard came out of the closet, pulling his sweater on over his head. “We’re
leaving.”
Paul grabbed his t-shirt, shoving it haphazardly on as he followed Richard to
the door, pushing his bare feet into his shoes and cursing heavily, grabbing
his jacket as he half tripped out the door and down the hall. “Richard, hold
up!”
With a backward glance, Richard hit the button for the elevator. “Hurry,
sweatheart.”
“God damn it!” Paul locked the door and hopped the last few steps, pulling his
left shoe the rest of the way on at the elevator doors, glaring at Richard.
“You could have fucking well waited for me.”
Richard smiled at him unconcerned. “Careful now, the walls have ears.”
Paul looked over and saw a woman standing in the corner, watching them in the
reflective surface of the wall. He sighed, “Shit.”
Since they’d been in England, he had been constantly under the scrutiny. He had
thought the paparazzi in America was bad, but at least they were obvious, with
camera’s flashing in your face at every turn and questions being shouted at
you. Here, there were spies everywhere and you could never quite tell what they
were going to do. Sometimes there were cameras and microphones and sometimes it
was Harry bloody Normal who managed to overhear the right thing or pull out his
camera at the right time.
Smiling at the civilian, Richard wrap an arm around his ‘life partner.’ “Cranky
lover, the hazards of waking up at this ungodly hour.”
She smiled a little and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. Anything to keep
the people oblivious. They walked in silence, keeping a foot between them. He
would have made it more, but he couldn’t chance that some rich doctor’s wife
would see it and flash a picture of them. Then the citizens of the greater
United Kingdom would be reading about their lovers’ tiff before the day was up.
On that thought, he stepped closer to Richard and took his hand. Richard
squeezed it back and he felt the moment approaching. He’d taken it at least
once every day, sometimes twice. Even if he’d known it wouldn’t do any good.
“Richard...”
“We’re not discussing that, Paul.”
“He hasn’t said anything, he’s not going to. Let it be...”
“Don’t be an idiot, Paul.”
“He’s only fif...”
Before he could finish that, he found himself pressed against a chain link
fence, his hands on either side his head and Richard’s hot breath against the
side of his face. “I am aware of his age, have been since his name came up on
my fucking television, sweatheart, and you’ve made damn sure I didn’t forget
it. If I hear,” he raised his voice mockingly, “‘he’s fifteen’ one more fucking
time, I will tie you to a tree and make you watch as I gut him. Do I make
myself clear?”
Paul closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing. “Yes, Richard.” He just had
to hold on. Just one more week until they were on their way back and any day
now he could get his fabulous opportunity to get away and maybe he really
would, because he wasn’t giving up on Mitch and he wasn’t going to sit back and
watch Richard kill him.
 
 
*****
 
 
Henry Dearing stared at the report in front of him blankly. They’d searched
through everything in the bags, absolutely everything and come up with nothing.
Not a single shred of evidence connecting them to anyone who could even
possibly be the kidnapper. Nothing in there had any kind of serial number or
identifying mark. Well, there had been some school books registered to a Jeremy
Gerring, who went to a private school in Rolling Hills but a quick search and
it turned out that Jeremy Gerring was only sixteen and he’d sold his school
books to a local shop some months ago.
He looked up at his son through the dining room window. Mitch was in the
backyard with Cynthia. They’d spent a lot of time out of doors recently, a
stark contrast to the way things had been before his son disappeared. If he
closed his eyes, he could still hear the sounds of Cynthia, Mark and Mitch
sitting in the living room, elbowing each other while they played video games,
slinging half hearted insults in low tones to avoid getting in trouble for
using language that was strictly prohibited in the Dearing household.
That wasn’t how it was anymore and he didn’t need years on the force to know it
would never be that way again. What had happened to his son... god, it made him
physically ill to think about. He’d rarely seen cases where that kind of thing
had ended up in the child coming home safely, not without police intervention.
So, what, or more precisely, who had brought his son home? There was, of
course, the possibility that he had escaped on his own and hitched a ride home,
but somehow, Henry doubted that.
Mitch gave a half smile and kicked the little swing back, letting it sway. With
a sigh, Henry got up from the table and went back down the hall, stopping in
front of Mitch’s bedroom door. He hadn’t been in the room since Mitch had come
home. For two and a half months it had been kept in perfect, pristine
condition, like time had stopped and he’d gone in it at least once a day and
sat on the bed, crying. Not that he’d told Margarete that. Not that he’d had
any delusions she didn’t do the same.
Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside. Frank had told him what Mitch
had done, ripping the posters down. He should have known his son was gay. It
didn’t mattered to him, but if he’d known, he could have done things
differently - the lecture on date rape would have been quite a bit different.
Henry looked at the bare walls spitefully. There had been pictures of half
naked men plastered all over his room, but for every two boys on the wall,
there was at least one girl draped between them and he’d deluded himself into
thinking Mitch was putting them up for that girl.
Deluding himself. It wasn’t something Henry did often, he couldn’t afford to.
As the Chief of Police, he needed to look at the facts and accept the truth at
face value so that he could assess the situation clearly. Sitting on the bed,
he looked at the night stand and picked up the little iPod on it, turning it
over in his hand with a bemused smile. Hell, if the posters hadn’t been a dead
give away, the pink iPod should have been.
Wait, Mitch didn’t have an iPod. He stared at it in shock. Mitch had asked for
one for his birthday, but Margaret had said that it was too expensive. Two
hundred dollars plus a subscription to a website where he could download music
legally and he’d probably need a new computer, because his was so old it
wouldn’t run the programs. If Mitch hadn’t had an iPod before he’d left, then
whoever had him must have given it to him and iPods, unlike DVD’s and books,
had traceable serial numbers.
Quickly, he grabbed a pencil from Mitch’s desk and a piece of paper, scribbling
down the number on the back of the device before carefully replacing it where
he’d found it. Dr. Chang had said that Mitch was secretive to the point of
paranoia about the identity of his captor, rarely even referring to him by any
name at all, let alone giving up a last one, and as much as Henry wanted to
wring the truth out of his son, he didn’t want to scare him into running away.
He had just shut the door to Mitch’s room when he heard the backdoor open.
“Mom? Dad?”
He rushed down the hall, shoving the paper in his pocket and wiping the guilty,
excited expression off his face. Mitch was standing in the kitchen, rummaging
through the fridge. He looked up when he heard his father come in. “Dad, are we
out of juice?”
“Your mother went to get some more. She should be back soon.”
Mitch smiled, but there was no mistaking the waver in it. “Okay. Thanks.”
He went back outside and Henry moved to the dining room, watching them again
through the window. Mitch was so much more fragile than when he’d left.
Physically and emotionally. When he laughed, it was almost always forced, when
he smiled, it never quite reached his eyes. He responded to some things with
violent withdrawal and others with placid detachment. He always had to have a
window open in whatever room he was in, even at night. He still wasn’t eating
nearly enough and even with weight gain pills it was slow going.
The doctors had only given Margaret an overview of what they’d found, but Henry
had read the details in their reports, outlining the various forms of tortures
that they either suspected or knew for a fact had been performed of Mitch. He’d
find the man that had hurt his little boy and he’d make damned sure he could
never hurt anyone else again. If the justice system failed, then he’d hunt him
down himself and whoever it was had better pray that it didn’t come to that.
 
 
*****
 
 
Cynthia watched Mitch on the swing from the corner of her eye. In the past few
days he had become a lot more relaxed at home. He’d started to occasionally
pick up a snack or eat more than a few bites of his food. He still didn’t like
to stay indoors and she’d noticed that whenever they were inside, he made a
point of opening a window, but still, it was progress. Of course, the aborted
attempt at going to school had been disappointing, but Cynthia had said that
she refused to go back until he did and her mother hadn’t wanted to fight her
on it.
Her mother had given in on a lot of things recently. Cynthia was still
grounded, but she was permitted to go to the Dearings as long as she was home
by dinner. She could watch television, but only after she’d done all her
chores. Really, it was like she wasn’t grounded at all, but she wasn’t about to
point that out.
“Do you want to take a walk?”
Mitch shrugged and got off the swing, waving at his father through the window.
Chief Dearing waved back and the two of them set off. They couldn’t be gone
very long, or someone would come looking for them, but they’d have at least
fifteen minutes before that happened.
“I, uh, I took a pregnancy test.”
Mitch came up short. “What did it say?”
She cringed. “I am one hundred percent knocked up at the age of fifteen.”
“What are you going to do?”
She shrugged and they walked on in silence for a little while. Cynthia had gone
over every option she had very carefully and she liked none of them. There was
abortion, but she didn’t like the idea. She’d always been pro-choice, but faced
with it now, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.
If she kept it, though, how would that affect Mitch? He’d said that Paul had
been nice to him, helped him, but Cynthia wasn’t foolish enough to believe that
made Paul innocent of all wrong doing. He had left Mitch there for two and a
half months, he’d seen, if not participated in the rapes and the torture and
she remembered very clearly what Paul had said.
Richard does these crazy drugs, I don’t even know what they’re called or what
they do, but they make... they make me want to have sex.
Most likely, those were the same drugs they had forced on Mitch and as much as
she wanted to believe that Paul wouldn’t have done anything, it just made more
sense to think that he had. Especially the way Mitch looked hurt and confused
whenever the man was mentioned.
So, if she kept it, she was keeping the baby of one of Mitch’s rapists. Would
that mean that Paul would want to come around? That he’d want to see it? That
would make things even worse - bad enough to have the baby around, but to have
the rapist himself popping in every so often... that was just unthinkable.
“Are you going to get rid of it?”
She sighed and resisted the urge to put her hand over her stomach. “I don’t
think so. I’m just not sure what to do.”
Mitch nodded knowingly. “Have you told Paul?”
She didn’t miss the slight flinch in her friend’s face as he said the name, but
she ignored it. “I called him, but Richard answered.” It took her a minute to
realize that Mitch had fallen behind again. “Mitch, are you...?”
“Richard answered?” His face was pale and he was shaking.
“Mitch, it’s not that big a deal. He doesn’t know who I am and I hung up right
away.”
Mitch took several deep breathes, but his chest was so tight it hurt to
breathe. He could hardly count the number of times Paul had been over and his
cell phone had gone off while he was out of the room. Richard had never picked
it up. He always scowled at it and yelled at Paul to hurry, but he never picked
it up. “You don’t understand. They do not pick up each other’s cell. They throw
them at each other, or they let them ring, but they do not pick them up.”
“You never know, Mitch, Paul could have told him to, or...”
“No. He never picks it up.” But he had. Richard had picked up Paul’s cell and
that meant that something had happened to Paul. Was he hurt? Dead? Had Richard
locked him up somewhere and left him? The only thing Mitch knew for sure was
that it meant Richard wasn’t happy with what Paul had done and that meant...
that meant that he would be coming back for Mitch, didn’t it?
“Cynthia, I want you to do something for me.” She was confused, but didn’t
argue with him. “Your mom still has a gun, right?” Now she opened her mouth to
argue, but he plunged forward. “Get it and keep it with you. I need you to
trust me on this. I know them better than anyone else, okay? And if I’m wrong,
then I’m wrong, but at least you’re safe.”
His desperation was unnerving. He really believed that this meant something and
he did know them better than she did. What if he was right? If Richard was
going to come after anyone, it would be Mitch. “What about you? If you really
think he could come after you, you have to tell someone. You have to...”
“Cynthia, I can’t.” Mitch was shaking worse than ever and his eyes were
brimming with tears. He was desperate and scared.
Cursing, she nodded and did the only thing she could think of. She lied. “Okay.
Okay, let’s drop it for now. I’ll get my mom’s gun and... and you’re home all
the time anyway, right? Your dad’s got plenty of guns you can use to protect
yourself until we figure something else out.”
It killed her a little, watching Mitch sniff back tears and force a smile onto
his face. It was like watching a five-year-old child, but this was her fifteen-
year-old best friend. She couldn’t let this go on any longer. Mitch had said
the only way to keep him safe was not to tell, but obviously that wasn’t true.
Besides, Richard Carter needed to be behind bars and if she had to break her
promise to Mitch to see it done, she would.
First chance she got to speak with Mitch’s father alone, she would tell him
everything. Mitch may never speak to her again, but at least he’d be safe.
 
 
 
*****
 
 
 
Any day now. That’s what he’d said, but he sure as hell hadn’t believed it.
“Mr. Zalinsky?”
He blinked at the little girl with her notebook again, blinking like a deer
caught in the headlights. “Excuse me?”
“I said, do you need a ride back to your apartment?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Richard on set, arguing with the
director on what he probably thought was a pivotal moment for his character.
That was one of the few things about Richard the Paul could still say was good.
He took his job very seriously and he put everything he had into what he did.
So far, there hadn’t been a single scene that they weren’t both in as the
director had been trying to make up for the lost footage they’d shot with the
other supporting actor. Paul still wasn’t sure what had made him quit, but he
hadn’t felt like speculating on it. Mostly, because he thought he had a fairly
good idea already. He watched Richard glare at a young girl that had gotten too
close and she moved quickly back to stand with the other extras.
“Am I... am I done for the day?”
She looked around the set nervously. “Yes?”
He glanced back at Richard, how was setting up for the shot, a stern scowl on
his face. “Does he know that?”
She opened and shut her mouth for a moment before finally looking at Richard
and back at Paul. “No, I don’t think so. The director decided that he wanted to
focus on Richard for the rest of today. He may need you later, but I doubt it.”
Paul stared at Richard for a minute, ignoring the hopelessly confused girl in
front of him. Finally, he felt his stomach drop at the realization that this
was his opportunity and he’d have to take it, because he wasn’t going to get
another one.
“Can you do me a favor, hon?” She blushed, but nodded and he gave her his most
winning smile. “If Richard asks, I went back to the apartment, okay? If he
doesn’t ask, doesn’t notice, don’t say anything.” He dropped his voice. “We’re
having a bit of a small fight and I wouldn’t mind a few hours to myself to
think it over.”
If there was one thing Richard had taught him over the years it was how to
manipulate people. She nodded hastily and he winked, leaning in to kiss her
cheek. “Thanks, you’re a doll.”
Paul took one last, dark look at Richard, who wasn’t paying him any attention.
He had no delusions that he’d be able to get a full day’s head start, but a few
hours, maybe, and that was all he needed.
 
 
*****
 
 
Mitch’d had nightmares before. Cynthia had seen them when he used to sleep over
at her house some years ago. They always included him kicking and hitting the
air, and yelling wordlessly. This was somehow worse. Mitch was curled up on his
side, breathing heavily, his fists tightly clenched mumbling ‘no’ over and
over, but he wasn’t really moving and he wasn’t trying to get away from
anything. He’d told her that Richard had made it clear to him that there was no
getting away, but for it to have gone so deep that it affected even his
dreams...
She shuddered a little and levered herself over his windowsill, tumbling into
his room gracelessly. It was just past midnight, but she hadn’t been able to
sleep. She was determined to tell Mitch’s father, but after countless hours
agonizing over it, she’d decided that she owed it to tell Mitch what she was
going to do before she did it. So, she’d gotten dressed and walked the two
streets over in the pitch black and snuck up to the window she knew would be
open, because he’d told her he unlocked it as soon as everyone was asleep.
Reaching out, she gently shook Mitch... and found herself flat on her ass on
the floor, a sharp thudding pain in her chest. Pressing a hand to the ache, she
looked up to see Mitch cowering in the corner of his bed, panting harshly with
his unfocused eyes staring through her.
Her breath caught in her throat and she couldn’t force out a single word. She’d
never seen anyone look so completely terrified, she wasn’t even sure how to
describe it now, because the look was slowly fading as Mitch’s eyes came into
focus. “Cynthia?”
She put a finger to her lips and sat up, rubbing her chest pointedly,
whispering, “You told me you were having nightmares, you didn’t tell me you
were attacking innocent bystanders.”
Mitch flushed, but she smiled. “It’s okay, my fault for being here at this
hour, actually.”
Scooting over, he motioned for her to sit down, which she did. “What are you
doing here?”
It was clear that all thoughts of sleep had been forgotten and she thought
maybe that was for the better. In fact, she was also going to suggest that his
parents start giving him sleeping pills, because the trouble with his appetite
might also have to do his inability to get a good night’s sleep.
“I’ve decided on something and I wanted to let you know before I did it.”
“You’re getting an abortion?”
She looked over sharply, but Mitch was staring at the floor. “No, Mitch, that’s
not it. I… I’m not getting rid of it.”
He lifted his gaze and saw the strangest thing in it. Hope. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
A smile spread over his face, “Good, because... you know, I don’t think I told
you this before, but I like Paul. A lot, actually. If it wasn’t dangerous for
him, I’d... I dunno. The doctor says it’s not healthy. He calls it Stock…
something Syndrome - where you identify with your captors - but that’s not it,
because I don’t identify with Richard or any of the others and Paul was never
one of them, not really. I’m just saying, you don’t have to get rid of it
because of me. I think I’d kind of like it, actually.”
He paused and the smile changed, turning into the wicked kind of smile that
Cynthia hadn’t seen since before his disappearance. “If nothing else, it’ll
take the attention away from me.”
Playfully, she punched his arm and couldn’t hold back the little chuckle in her
throat. He was getting better, he really was. Despite all the evidence to the
contrary, here they were, in the middle of the night and he was laughing and
smiling and joking around and for once there wasn’t anything forced about it.
Of course, that just made what she had to say more difficult.
“Mitch, I wanted to tell you that... I’m going to tell your father everything.”
Instantly, the color drained from his face. “You what?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be coming over first thing in the morning.”
His mouth opened and closed, unable to get any sound out, and when he finally
did manage to talk, it sounded like his throat was closed. “Why?!”
“Because you’re not safe...”
“I am. I told you, as long as I keep my mouth shut, I’m perfectly safe. If you
tell...”
She grabbed his shoulders. “You are not safe, Mitch. You said it yourself, they
don’t answer each other’s phones. I’ve been thinking about it and that means
that something’s probably happened to Paul and if Richard’s the one answering
his line, then he’s the one who did it. If he’s hurt Paul, then it’s because
Paul let you go and he’ll hurt you next!”
Mitch pulled away from her and his look of betrayal was heartbreaking. “I can
handle Richard.”
“You can’t handle Richard, that’s why I’m here! Look at yourself, Mitch, you’re
shaking all over at the mere mention of him. You’ve got me carrying around,”
she let go of him and pulled the little revolver out of her waistband, “this to
keep myself safe. You obviously think he’s going to try and come for you and
I’m not going to let that happen.”
He stood up from the bed, backing away from her defensively. “Go ahead, then.
Tell anyone you want, because I obviously can’t stop you.”
Standing up as well, she put the gun back in her jeans and tried to touch
Mitch’s arm, only to have him jerk away.I couldn’t stop him. Anything he wanted
to do, he just did it and there wasn’t anything I could say or do to make a
difference. Oh, hell. “That’s not fair. I’m not doing this to hurt you.”
“But you are. I’m telling you that I’m safe as long as no one knows and you
don’t care. Just leave.”
She reached out again, but he jerked back, violently this time, slamming his
shoulder into the wall. “I said, leave!”
It echoed through the room and Cynthia wondered if it had woken anyone up. Not
that it mattered. Reluctantly, she went back to the window and slipped out,
looking at her shaking friend with watering eyes. “I’m sorry, Mitch, but it’s
for the best. You can’t hide from him forever.”
“Go?” The energy had drained out of it, leaving it more of a request and she
sighed, obeying.
The night seemed even colder now and she wrapped her arms around herself as she
started down the path. This was ridiculous. Why had she ever thought that
telling him what she was going to do would make anything better? She knew
Mitch. She knew him better than she knew herself at times and she knew, beyond
a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t going to listen to reason on this. He was
always hiding from everything. When they were seven and the teacher had said
she was going to call his parents about a bad test score, he’d gone to
Cynthia’s and hidden under her bed. When they’d been ten and one of the bullies
kept stealing his lunch money, he started going to school late to avoid him.
Last year when Mitch had first realized Mark had a crush on him, he refused to
be around the other boy without Cynthia with him so he could hide behind her.
She stopped and cursed, looking back at the road she’d just crossed. He was
always hiding and that’s what he’d do this time, too, wasn’t it? He’d run away
if he had to, just so long as he didn’t have to face this and she couldn’t let
that happen.
Turning around, she started back towards Mitch’s house. That was when she
noticed the car.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Cynthia was right, Mitch knew she was, but that wasn’t any big surprise,
because in the grand scheme of things, Cynthia was usually right. Richard had
probably done something to Paul and if he had, then Mitch was next and as much
as Mitch might say otherwise, he knew he couldn’t handle Richard.
Sitting on his bed, he dropped his head and forced himself to breathe. What was
the worst that could happen if she told? A media circus came to mind. His chest
tightened and he drew his breath in, slow and steady. Richard was famous and
the media would be all over this. Everything Mitch said would be scrutinized
and he remembered very well what Paul had said all those months ago. Regardless
of his age, it would be one testimony against six and even with medical
evidence it would be sketchy.
He lifted his head and scanned his room. He could run away. It was so tempting,
but it wouldn’t really solve anything. Besides, where would he go? Throwing
himself back onto his bed, he stared at his ceiling blankly. He was being
stupid again. Cynthia was right and he knew it. He couldn’t run from this, but
he could face it.
With a defeated laugh, he tested the feeling on his tongue. “Richard raped me.”
That didn’t sound right. “Wayne Guider raped me.” That sounded worse. “Richard
Carter. It was Richard Carter.” Not just Richard anymore. That last name added
so much to it. It made it a person.
He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d have to apologize to Cynthia tomorrow.
“Mitch?”                                                                                                        
That sounded like… His eyes snapped open, his head simultaneously turning to
the window where he saw Paul’s face poking through the curtains. If Mitch
thought it was cold outside, that was nothing compared to his suddenly frozen
inside. His stomach dropped and his throat closed, it took great effort just to
force out even a single word.
“Paul?”
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” Paul lifted himself up and slid into the room,
dropping to the floor in a crouch. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get here first,
afraid I’d miscalculate or...”
Mitch sat up as Paul stood. He felt defensive, on edge... hopeful. “What are
you doing here?”
With a grin, Paul walked up to him. The man was so much bigger than him and he
felt small, looking up as Paul leaned down and took his face in his hands,
kissing him softly on the mouth. “We have to get out of here. Get some stuff
together. If you need anything else, I’ll buy it for you.”
Mitch didn’t move. They had to go? But he’d just gotten home. In Richard’s
room, time had almost stopped. Every minute had felt like hours. Here... here
it felt like only yesterday that he’d stepped out of Paul’s car. “Where are we
going?”
Paul grabbed his iPod off the desk and unplugged the charger, passing it to
Mitch. “Anything else?”
Hesitantly, Mitch shook his head and Paul took him by his arms, lifting him up
gently. “We have to go now, okay?”
Mitch didn’t move. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” Paul started for the window and Mitch pulled back.
“I...” He was torn and confused. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Mitch, I love you.” Paul didn’t even have to hesitate. He’d had thirteen hours
on a plane to think this through and he knew one thing for certain - he’d do
anything it took to protect Mitch. He wasn’t for sure that he loved Mitch, but
he’d say it, because he thought maybe Mitch might come with him if he did.
Falling back onto the bed, Mitch stared at him with too large eyes. “You what?”
“I love you and I’m going to protect you, but I can’t do that if we stay here.”
Clothes, Mitch would need clothes, at least some. Grabbing the school bag off
the floor, he dumped its contents and went to the dresser.
“What?”
“Richard knows where you live, or he’ll find it and I think maybe I’ve got a
few hours on him, but that’s about it.”
“Richard?”
Paul heard the desperate panic in Mitch’s small voice and stopped throwing
clothes in the bag and looked back. Cursing, he dropped what he was doing and
fell to his knees in front of the pale, shaking boy. “Come on, breathe, Mitch,
it’ll be okay. I’m going to take care of you. We’ll get in my car and drive
somewhere safe that I know Richard won’t find and then we’ll call the police
and tell them everything. As soon as they’ve picked him up, I’ll bring you
right back here, okay?”
Mitch’s hand touched his and he took the slender fingers in his own, turning
the hand up and kissing the palm. After a moment Mitch nodded and Paul smiled,
grabbing the bag and thrusting it at the boy. “Let’s get out of here.”
He climbed out the window first and then offered a hand to Mitch, who crawled
out after him, nearly falling into the grass. Paul took the bag from him and
grabbed his elbows to help him stand. “My car’s around the...” but Mitch wasn’t
looking at him. Mitch was looking past him and the shock that was written on
his face told Paul everything he needed to know.
“Oh, fuck me.”
“Got it in one, Paul. I always knew you were smart.” It was Richard and no
matter how jovial his words may have sounded, Paul didn’t have to turn around
to know that he was utterly pissed. It was all there in the tight undertone of
his voice. “Mitchell-dear, come over here.”
Paul hadn’t looked away from Mitch’s face, so he didn’t miss the minute shake
of his head. Paul tightened his grip on the boy’s elbows. “He’s not going
anywhere with you.” He winced as a gun cocked behind him.
“Yes, he is, because if he doesn’t, I will find that little friend of his and
I’ll show her exactly what he went through before I cut her open. What do you
think, Mitch? Yhink I can make her cry?” Mitch sagged in Paul’s grip. He’d
stopped shaking. “You know, Paul, that was pretty stupid of you, talking to the
kid’s friend, but I guess you didn’t know who she was, did you? Hell, I didn’t
even figure it out until I was half way here. Now, what say you let him come to
me.”
“Richard, please...”
“Shut it, Paul.” Paul closed his eyes and cringed as he reluctantly let go of
Mitch and the kid walked away from him, towards Richard. He’d fucked this up so
bad. He should have gone to the police first. He should have... he should have
phoned Mitch’s father, hell, anything. Turning around, he faced Richard. There
was a deadly confidence about his best friend, the man he’d thought he knew.
Richard grabbed Mitch’s arm as soon as he got close enough, yanking him to him,
but he kept the gun aimed at Paul. Richard was impeccably dressed, his hair
still damp from a fresh shower, an unwrinkled white, button down shirt,
untucked around a pair of acid wash jeans that pressed tightly against
Richard’s thighs. He’d been back in Los Angeles long enough to go home and get
his gun and a shower.
With a tisk, Richard shoved the boy behind him, towards the running car at the
curb. “Get in the front seat, Mitchell-dear. If you try anything, I’ll shoot
Paul.”
Paul had to force himself to focus on Richard, because if he watched Mitch, he
would have to see the defeated boy crawl into Richard’s car without a word or
even a sound and pull his knees up, wrapping his arms around them defensively.
“Richard...”
“No, you are going to shut your god damned mouth and do exactly what I say. You
are going to go around the corner, get in your car, and follow me. We’ll take
care of this together.”
Paul flushed angrily. “I’m not helping you kill him.”
Richard shrugged, “Maybe not, but you will come with me, because you know that
if you don’t, he’ll die alone.” Stepping forward, Richard moved behind Paul,
leaving him an unobstructed view of Mitch, and pressed the gun to his cheek,
whispering, “Imagine his face, Paul, scared, looking around for help while I
wrap my hands around that delicate little throat. Do you think he’ll fight me?
They usually do, but then Mitch isn’t like the others, is he? If I hadn’t
gotten that offer, I might have just kept him. He’s so perfectly broken.”
Bile rose in his throat, but Paul forced it down.
“So, you get in your car, and then he’ll have someone to look at, someone he
trusts that can be there when he dies. If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you hold
his hand.” Richard danced out of the way, laughing when Paul forgot himself and
turned around, swinging at thin air. “Ah, ah, Paul, you know better than that.”
Richard couldn’t help smiling. This was so much fun. Not to say that Paul
hadn’t always been fun, but over the years it had become a bit tedious. Now,
the impotent rage in his best friend was palpable and Richard moved forward,
holding the gun to Paul’s temple. This wasn’t just fun, this was fucking hot.
He pressed his lips to Paul’s, savoring the way they meshed together, even when
Paul wasn’t willing for it. Lovers since forever, Richard knew everything about
Paul - about his body, about his emotions, about where to touch him to make him
respond.
Pulling away, Richard put his nose to Paul’s and whispered, “Get in your car,
Paul, and try and keep up. You wouldn’t to lose Mitchell-dear. Not just yet,
anyway.”
He backed up and held out the gun in a purposefully lazy fashion until Paul
finally relented and turned, walked through the yards to where his car was
parked. Richard waited patiently for him to round the corner out of sight
before relaxing his posture, tucking the gun in the back of his pants. Paul was
a problem, but one that he had plenty of time to fix. The problem in his car,
however, needed immediate tending.
Storming up to the car, he glowered down at the boy. Mitch’s muddy feet were on
the seat, dirtying it with heel prints and his arms were wrapped around his
knees as he stared fixedly forward. “Put you’re fucking head down.”
He slammed the door and Mitch immediately dropped his feet to the floor,
ducking his head down to rest on his knees. Richard got in the driver’s seat
and looked at the boy, fighting the urge to bite at his lower lip. It was a
habit he’d broken himself of when he’d decided to be an actor, but occasionally
it came back to haunt him.
He hadn’t lied to Paul, the kid was well and truly broken. His reaction to
Richard, utter terror followed by complete resignation, was all the testament
he needed to that, but still... it wouldn’t do for Mitch to come back to his
senses and try to jump out of the car, or something equally as stupid.
“Sit up.”
Mitch did so, saying nothing even if Richard could see the confusion on his
face. Opening the glove compartment, Richard pulled out the small bottle and
rag that he’d thrown in before leaving.
It had been a near thing actually. He’d almost missed it, but the little
assistant had been so nervous when she’d brought him his coffee, that it had
been obvious something was up. A quick look around had confirmed that Paul was
nowhere on set and after a few minutes of interrogation, the girl had admitted
that he’d left, saying they were having a fight and he wanted some time alone.
Time alone indeed. A call to the driver had further confirmed his suspicions.
Paul had made a stop at the apartment and then been dropped off at the airport
not thirty minutes prior. The only thing that had saved him was that unlike
Paul, Richard didn’t have to be secretive. All it took was a few minutes
explaining that he and Paul were indeed having a fight, that it over something
stupid that would sort itself out in a few days, but that Paul had jumped a
plane back to America. The director had been so horrified at the idea that he’d
have to re-film the footage yet again that he’d readily agreed to let Richard
use his private jet.
So, while Paul had been sitting at the airport, waiting to board his plane,
Richard had been in the air, on his way. He’d gotten a good three hours on him,
enough time to go home, get cleaned up, grab his gun and anything else that
looked handy, including the chloroform he kept in the storage room. Shaking a
good amount of it onto the rag, he grabbed Mitch’s head with one hand and held
it over the boy’s nose and mouth with his other.
“Breathe.”
The other thing he loved about Mitch was that while he may have been broken, he
still fought on occasion, usually when it was too late to do any good, but that
made it all the better. At Richard’s command, he had shook his head as best he
could and determinedly held his breath, trying to tug free of Richard’s grip on
his face. His finger nails bit into Richard’s hands and he kicked his feet
against the floor of the car, but it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going
anywhere and they both knew it.
Less than a minute later, Richard felt the pull of fabric as Mitch sucked air
into his starving lungs and watched the satisfying roll of Mitch’s eyes as the
drug pulled him into unconsciousness. The first time he’d had to use this stuff
was with Greg. He’d had it with Duncan, but Duncan hadn’t tried anything and
even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. No one was going to pick Duncan out
in a passing car, hell, only a hand full of people probably even knew he was
missing. Violent tempered Greg, on the other hand, had been a different story.
Richard put the bottle back in the glove compartment and shut it, leaning Mitch
over so the kid’s head rested on Richard’s lap, out of view to any passerby.
If Mitch thought he’d had it bad, he would have been horrified to know what
Greg had gone through. Sure, Greg hadn’t been hit, because he’d thought at the
time Paul would draw a line there, and he had also never been forced to suck
cock, because with the way he gnashed his teeth when anyone came near him, no
one was putting anything in or even near his mouth, but there were worse
things; like having your head forced under water during sex, or having to stare
at blank walls for a week because the television had been taken away entirely,
or being forced to go nude for almost a month because you fought too much over
taking your clothes off. Richard had found many, many ways of keeping Greg in
line.
He’d find ways to keep Paul in line, too.
With a happy sigh, he put the car in drive and rolled forward. In just an hour,
he’d be rid of Mitch and without the kid there to cloud things up, Paul would
be his again.
 
 
*****
 
 
Paul beat his hand against his steering wheel, taking several deep breathes
before following Richard out onto the road. This was fucking crazy, it was
insane. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?
It was past midnight and there was almost no traffic on the road, not that it
would have mattered, because Paul couldn’t see Mitch’s head in the car anyway
and there wasn’t much hope that anyone else would. He turned onto the main
street, matching Richard’s speed.
How the hell had Richard gotten here so fast? God, but Paul had royally fucked
this up beyond any semblance of repair. Richard had Mitch and Paul was forced
to drive along behind them like some puppy. He didn’t know how he could even
hope to keep Richard from doing what he was planning to, but he did know he had
to try.
As focused as he was on his thoughts, it was no wonder that when Cynthia popped
her head up into his rear view mirror and said, “Hey,” he nearly swerved off
the road.
Righting the car, he looked back at her sheepish, pale face and gaped for
several seconds before he could respond. “What in the fuck are you doing in the
back of my car?!” She started to sit up, but he reached back, pressing down on
her. “No, just stay the hell down and answer the question.”
“We needed to talk.”
Cursing, he watched for any sign that Richard knew what was going on behind
him. He’d slowed down a little, but wasn’t pulling over. Adjusting his mirror
so he could see her, he tried to think of something to say. “This... is not a
good time, Cynthia.”
She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, “Oh, well, then, let me just step
out of the moving car. What is going on, anyway? Why are you here? Aren’t you
supposed to be in England with lover-boy making a movie or something?”
“I do not appreciate your sarcasm right now.” She didn’t respond and he sighed,
looking at the angry set of her jaw. “All right, look, I came back to get
Mitch. Richard wants to... finish him off and I was trying to get here and get
Mitch out before Richard could.”
“Trying?”
“Yeah, well, Richard showed up.”
Cynthia sat up a little and Paul reached back, pushing her lower again, nearly
swerving into the other lane in his haste. “What happened?”
“I’m in my car alone without him, shoving your head down. What do you think
happened?” She didn’t say anything and he stared forward. “Richard had a gun
and he took Mitch. He wants me to follow him to wherever he plans on...” He
couldn’t say it this time, because Cynthia had turned a funny shade of yellow
and he was afraid she’d be sick. “Calm down, I’m not going to let him.”
“What are you going to do? Call the police?”
“Not unless you have your phone on you.” She shook her head. “I’ll work out
something when we get there, okay? Right now, I need you to keep out of sight.”
She nodded and slunk even further onto the floor of his backseat.
They drove in silence for a while, Paul’s temper bowling near the surface. What
the hell had she been thinking? He had aided and abetted in the kidnapping and
rape of her best friend and she just got into his car without a cell phone or
any means of protecting herself?
Not that Cynthia being there made much difference. He’d still be fighting
Richard, he’d just be doing it for two people, because if he lost, Cynthia was
in danger now, too. Actually, now that he thought about it, Cynthia would have
been in danger if he lost, anyway. Richard knew who she was, knew Paul had
talked to her and if anyone knew Paul’s failings, it was Richard. He probably
wouldn’t take the chance guessing as to whether or not she’d gotten anything
out of him. When he finished with Mitch, he’d hunt her down as well.
This whole thing was completely out of control. How had it gotten this far? How
could he not have figured out what Richard was doing? It seemed so obvious now.
In fact, it was the only thing that made sense when he thought about...
“Paul, I’m pregnant.”
He twisted bodily in the seat to look at her, turning the steering wheel with
him and nearly driving them into the ditch on the side of the road. The tires
thumping along the warning ridges of the shoulder shocked him back into focus
and he turned back around, getting both hands on the steering wheel as he
righted the car. “You’re what?!”
She was gripping the seat in front of her, her eyes wide. “Pregnant, so I’d
really appreciate it if you kept the car on the road.”
Pregnant? How could she be pregnant, she was only fifteen, and why would she be
telling him any... “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
He glared at the road. “Are you sure it’s mine?”
He didn’t need to look to feel her anger. “I’m fifteen, I don’t exactly go
around spreading my legs for the entire school, you know.”
“You spread them for me readily enough.” She swatted him, hard, and the car
jerked a little. “Hey, watch it, I’m driving, and keep your god damn head
down!”
“I only slept with you because I knew there was something you weren’t telling
me! If you’d only fessed up to everything in the first place, none of this
would have happened.”
“You what?! How did you know I wasn’t telling you everything?”
She sat up a little, but was careful to keep her head below the top of the
seats. “Come on, Paul, honestly. You’re like an open book.”
“Paul, buddy, get your lazy ass up.”
They both froze as the sound of Richard’ voice filling the car.
“God damn fucking…” Lifting up, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“I thought you didn’t have a cell.”
He waved at her to be silent and hit the speaker button, sliding it into the
clip on his visor. He hadn’t been able to work out the password on the plane,
but he’d brought it with him anyway. He couldn’t remember a time since he was
seventeen that he didn’t have the thing plastered to his ass through the back
of his pants.
“Hey, Richard.”
“What the hell is going on back there?”
Paul flinched and cast a scathing glare at Cynthia through the rearview. “I’m
just thinking.”
“About what?”
He sighed and closed his eyes for a minute before opening them again to watch
the road. What he wouldn’t give for a coffee about now, or  a smoke or anything
to clear his head. “When you had the black eye, after you took Greg home, what
really happened?”
Richard chuckled, “Is that all?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Greg wasn’t as gullible as you, Paul. The moment I told him he was ‘going
home,’ he tried to jump me, but you remember Greg. He was, what, five foot six?
Fighter or not, he couldn’t hope to get the better of me. A sound beating, some
carefully administered drugs and we were on our way.”
Cynthia had a hand over her mouth and she was breathing deeply through her
nose. Paul reached a hand behind him and clasped it into hers, squeezing for a
moment before letting go.
“How can you do this, Richard? They didn’t deserve to die, none of them and
Mitch... he’s just a kid.”
“Hm, yes, he is, isn’t he? Such a sweet one, at that. Tell me, Paul, did you
fuck him while I was gone?” Paul’s breath caught in his throat and he wanted to
tell Richard to shut up, but the words wouldn’t come out. “You had him to
yourself for days. Did you lay him down, kiss him, undress him, whisper sweet
nothings into his ear while you shoved your cock up his tight ass?”
“Stop it.” He sounded pathetic, even to himself.
“Poor Paul, but you did, didn’t you?”
He bit his tongue before forcing the answer out. “Yes.”
Cynthia gasped behind her hands and he looked at her. The surprise and disgust
were there, clear and easy to read. Mitch may have told her a lot of things,
but he hadn’t told her about that.
Richard laughed loudly and Paul had to gulp down the curses that he was itching
to sling at the man. “I always knew you liked him. From the very first moment
you laid eyes on him, I knew. In fact, you’re the reason I even noticed him at
all. I’d been eyeing that dark skinned little number that was popping around
the dance floor like he was on speed, but you only had eyes for Mitchell-dear.
I couldn’t understand why, at first. He was scrawny and young, with big doe
eyes, but there was something about him.”
Cynthia’s hands were so tightly on her face that the skin under her fingers had
turned white. Paul wanted desperately to turn off the speaker, but he was
afraid Richard would notice and he couldn’t give him any reason to suspect that
they weren’t alone. God, was Mitch hearing this?
“The way you danced with him between us, I might as well not have been there.
That and you’d never warned any of the other boys away. You’d never told me no.
Maybe that’s why I wanted him so badly, because I wanted to test the limits of
my control over you.”
“No.” It came out before Paul could stop it. He didn’t want to even imagine
that what had happened to Mitch was his fault.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it? You were right. He is special, Paul,
very, very special and now he’s going to be very special in a hole in the
ground.”
Richard hung up and Paul swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. It
was all his fault. Richard was right, he had been looking at him. Not that he’d
been thinking particularly lustful thoughts at the time. He’d seen him come in,
staring around at everyone as if he wasn’t really sure what he was doing there.
Mitch had been so cute with a refreshing openness among the throng of people
doing their best to make a spectacle of themselves.
His feelings for Mitch had only grown over the last few months and maybe saying
that he loved the kid wasn’t as much of a stretch as he’d thought it was. He
certainly was willing to risk a lot for him.
“Paul, did you really...?”
Loaded question. Did he what - fuck him, stare at him, like him, want him? Not
that it mattered, because, as always, Richard knew him better than he knew
himself and the answer to all of them was, “Yes.”
Cynthia nodded and he could see her shaking with suppressed sobs. He’d get them
out of this, both her and Mitch and he’d take them home and do whatever he had
to make it right.
After half an hour of silence, he unclipped his phone and passed it to Cynthia,
telling her to have a go at figuring out the password. More silence,
interrupted by the beep of her systematically putting in numbers. He’d spent
hours on the plane trying to figure out the four number combination, but he
hadn’t had any patience for it and, besides, his fingers had been trembling so
badly he was hitting the wrong number half the time.
Richard turned off onto a narrow, worn down road. They had to be getting near,
Richard hated driving, so he wouldn’t go any further than he had to.
“Paul?” Cynthia had put the phone her knee and it was shaking. “Are we almost
there?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me where we were going.”
She was silent for nearly a minute before speaking again. “I have a gun.”
He stared at her in the rear view. “You what?”
“Paul, look out!”
He got his eyes back on the road just in time to slam on his brakes and avoid
rear ending Richard. They had stopped. Was this it? He looked around him. A
long row of high hedges was on one side of them, the other was a dense covering
of trees and the road stretched out so far in front and behind him that he
couldn’t see where it ended either way. There was a little light on one of the
hedges that illuminated the small patch of roadway they were on, but everything
else was dark and... quiet. He cut off his engine and the only sound left was
their breathing.
With his hand on the door, he watched Richard’s car, waiting for him to get
out. “Cynthia, you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Richard’s car door opened and he got out, pulling Mitch across the passenger
seat and out the driver’s side. Mitch looked disoriented, clinging to Richard
to help himself stand. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like maybe he was
just waking up. Richard might have drugged him, then. With what, Paul couldn’t
be sure, but he was relieved that Mitch probably hadn’t heard the conversation
between him and Richard.
He moved to open his door, but Cynthia’s hand stayed him. “Wait, what about the
gun?
Oh right, the gun. He could use it. It would certainly put him and Richard on
more even ground, but if it came down to that, could he really shoot Richard,
the man who had been his best friend and constant companion for more than half
his life? He didn’t know, but he knew that if he couldn’t and Richard took the
gun away from him, that left Cynthia utterly defenseless and he couldn’t take
that risk.
“Keep it, you may need it. Stay here until you’re sure we’re a good distance
from the car, then I want you to run and get help. There’s probably a house or
something on the other side of those hedges. It could be pretty far back, but
just get to it and have them call the police.” Without waiting for a response
he got out of the car and walked to Richard, who was holding Mitch’s arm in one
hand and the gun in the other. It wasn’t pointed at anyone in particular, but
then it didn’t have to be.
Richard grinned at Paul and cocked his head towards the forest. “Let’s go for a
little walk.”
Paul followed without a word. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, or say.
He wanted to beg for Mitch’s life, but how many times had he watched Richard’s
boys beg, only to be laughed at or ignored? The only thing that he knew for
certain worked on Richard was cold, calm logic, but as far as that went, it
wasn’t logical to let Mitch live, not if they wanted to stay out of jail.
“Richard...”
“Mouth closed, Paul. We’re almost there.”
Mitch stumbled over the uneven ground, but Richard only tightened his grip,
holding him up and forcing him to continue to walk. This was insane. Richard
had been his best friend, the little boy that liked to tease other people, but
always stuck up for Paul. He was the teenager that had hesitantly kissed Paul
in a closet their sophmore year while they were skipping class. He was the
young man that had always gotten what he wanted, not because people gave it to
him, but because he took it, he earned it. He was... he was a murderer and a
rapist and Paul was no better than him, because he’d helped him keep those boys
and he’d taken the drugs and raped them, as well. It didn’t matter that he only
had vague, half recollections of it the next morning. He’d still done it.
Worse yet, he’d been completely blind to who and what Richard really was.  
When had this all started? When had Richard become this, because it wasn’t
something he was born with. No one was just born without basic human emotions.
Why hadn’t Paul noticed the change?
He stopped and Richard stopped as well, looking back at him, annoyance clear in
his sagging posture. Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists
in frustration. “What happened to you? When did you become this thing?”
Richard stared at him blankly for a moment before he broke out laughing, half
doubled over, but still keeping his grip on Mitch. “Oh, Paul, that’s great.
That right there, that’s why I love you so much.” The idea that Richard loved
him made Paul numb inside, but he stood his ground, gritting his teeth against
the anger of being laughed at.   Straightening up, Richard continued to smile
that naturally dazzling smile that made everyone trust him.
“The thing is, love, that I’ve always been like this.”
Paul shook his head in denial. “No way, Richard, I’ve known you since we were
five. You were a nice kid.”
“Because I didn’t want to get in trouble! I remember it like it was fucking
yesterday. All year, the teachers had been keeping an eagle eye on me, like
they expected me to assassinate the kid next to me or something and I noticed
that they never did that with you. No, with you they turned a blind eye on
everything, even when you had someone else with you. So, I decided I wanted to
be your friend. It took me forever to scare off your other little friends
without you noticing, but it was worth it, because, you know what? I was right.
With you around, no one even looked twice. Not the teachers, not the
authorities. In fact, the only people who ever so much as glanced askance at me
were your parents and, lucky me, your father was too afraid he’d get you in
trouble, as well.”
It wasn’t possible, it just wasn’t. Paul wasn’t willing to believe that he’d
let Richard play him like that, for this long. “You can’t possibly have thought
all that through at five.”
“Of course not, at five I just wanted to pinch extra cookies, but it didn’t
take long after that.” Paul was going to be sick. It was one thing to think he
may not have noticed Richard going through a gradual change; it was another to
know that he had been manipulated almost his entire life. “Remember Thomas
Kippling.”
It took him a moment to understand what Richard was saying. The name was
familiar, but from where? “Wait, the nerdy kid from private? The one you were
always teasing?”
“Just the one!” He noticed Mitch tugging at his trapped arm, but Richard
ignored the silent protest. “Remember how I left him alone after eighth grade?”
“Yeah, you said you got tired of him, that he wasn’t any fun anymore.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Oh, he was still fun, it’s just that I’d gotten
what I wanted from him, was all. In fact, I got it several more times after
that, right up until we graduated and the best thing about little Tommy was
that he never told anyone.”
Paul closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. Kippling had been an annoying
little shit at times, always running into people in the halls and knocking
things over, but he’d never done anything to deserve that, especially not
between fourteen-year-olds. Gods, that was younger than even Mitch.
When he looked up, he wished to god he had brought the gun, because, best
friend or not, he would have shot Richard where he stood. It would have been a
kindness. Mitch gave up trying to get his arm free as Richard shook him by it,
still not even bothering to look at the boy. Richard only had eyes for Paul. It
had always been that way, but how much of that was a lie?
“Did you ever care about me? Or was I just convenient?” It was self-inflicted
punishment to ask, because whatever the answer, it was only going to make
things worse, make it hurt more.
Richard dropped Mitch’s arm finally and the boy stumbled, falling on his ass.
He didn’t try to get up and run, only sat there, staring numbly at Richard’s
legs.
“Paul, of course I care. If I didn’t, you’d be long gone. Actually, I rather
think I love you. The very thought of you leaving makes me so fucking angry
that I could kill. You looking at anyone else the way you look at me, puts me
in a rage. That’s why I took him, Paul. I control you, Iam the one you look to
for everything. Not some stupid little kid who isn’t smart enough not to accept
drinks from strangers.” Richard’s face had drawn tighter with every word and
Paul didn’t doubt that what he said was true. Not that Paul would have called
it love - obsession would have been closer to the truth.
“Let him go then, Richard. He hasn’t told anyone and he’s not going to. I’ll...
I’ll never question you again. I’ll do whatever you tell me. Hell, I will
personally kidnap whoever the hell strikes your fancy next, but let Mitch go.”
The anger dissolved into resolution. “No, I’m going to kill Mitch.” He ignored
the whimper from the boy on the ground next to him. “I’m going to wrap my
fingers around his slender little throat and I am going to choke the life out
of him, but that’s not going to fix anything, is it? You’ll still think about
him. You’ll pine for him. When I fuck you, you’ll be thinking about having him
under you and I’m not entirely sure I can live with that. I’d rather have you
dead than against me, Paul. So, make up your mind. Either you’re with me or
you’re not.”
Paul stared at the gun that was leveled at him and he tried to think his way
out of it, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He could rush Richard, but
there was too much distance between them. He’d be dead before he got halfway.
He could run, but Richard would just shoot him in the back. He couldn’t talk
Richard out of this. He just prayed that Cynthia had managed to get away from
here.
“I’m sorry, Richard, I can’t be with you on this.”
Richard’s expression went blank, his face relaxing into a careful mask of
neutrality as he cocked the gun. “I’ll miss you, Paul.”
“No, you won’t.”
The mouth twitched upward, just a little. “Maybe not.”
He kept his eyes open. He wasn’t even sure why, except that he couldn’t take
his eyes off Richard’s face, that face that he’d known for so long, that he’d
memorized in love and friendship. It was twisted and contorted now and Paul
hardly recognized it at all, but he couldn’t look away. Richard’s finger
tightened on the trigger.
He heard a wordless cry and he thought maybe it had come from him, only it
didn’t sound like him. A moment later, the back of Mitch’s head thrust itself
into his view, not obscuring Richard’s face, because Mitch was too short to do
that, but it eclipsed the gun, blocking the flash of it going off and Paul tore
his eyes away from Richard as Mitch fell, crumpling to the ground, clutching
his chest.
“Mitch!” He lunged forward and saw Richard move to train the gun on him again.
Even as he dropped to Mitch’s side, turning him over to survey the damage, he
knew it wasn’t going to do any good. Paul looked back up at Richard, waiting.
It felt like someone had pressed pause on the world as they stared at each
other, neither moving. He didn’t even think they were breathing.
The world careened into movement as another gunshot rang out and the side of
Richard’s head exploded and he collapsed to the ground, his eyes staring
forward, dull and unblinking. He looked around until he found Cynthia standing
a few feet away, next to a tree. She must have followed them from the car.
A chocked breath from Mitch drew his attention. Blood was spreading quickly
over the boy’s shirt, just over his heart. Paul cursed as he lifted the fabric
up and pressed his palm against the wound, but it kept bleeding and Mitch’s
face was ashen, his usually bright eyes dulling.
“No, no, no, no.” He pressed harder onto the wound, but he could literally feel
Mitch’s heart slowing to a stop.
He wasn’t aware of Cynthia until she fell on the ground next to him. “Oh, god,
Mitch.”
She reached out and touched his face, but Paul knew it was already too late.
The heart under his hands had stopped and the flow of blood had slowed. Mitch
was dead.
“Cynthia.”
She sobbed, brushing Mitch’s hair back from his face. “Mitch, come on, talk to
me, please?”
Paul grabbed her hands, heedless of the blood that he was smearing on them.
“Cynthia, look at me.” She tried to pull away, but he moved to hold her face,
gently, but firmly. “Cynthia, listen, you have to get Richard’s cell, okay?
It’s in his car. You have to get it and you have to call the police.”
Hesitantly, she nodded and he let her go, watching her run back through woods
as he took a deep breath. After a moment, he got himself together enough to
carefully close the boy’s eyelids with shaking fingers
Paul took Mitch’s hand and lifted it up to press it against his lips. He was
still warm. Paul stayed like that, even after the body had gone cold. He could
hear Cynthia faintly, sobbing hysterically at the car and he knew that he
should go to her, but he didn’t want to leave Mitch alone with Richard.
He didn’t realize he was crying until he heard the police sirens in the
distance.
 
 
*****
 
 
-Four Months Later-
 
“Paul Gerring, you have a visitor.”
Paul looked up from the book he was reading in surprise. He wasn’t expecting
anyone. His parents had been too see him just yesterday and his lawyers weren’t
scheduled to come in for another few weeks at least. “Who is it?”
The guard shrugged, opening his cell door and standing aside to let him pass.
“Young girl, nineteen with dark brown hair, I didn’t catch her name.”
Paul didn’t say anything else as he followed the guard through the halls. He’d
been in prison for four months now and if he’d learned anything it was that
you’re life was a hell of a lot easier if you got along with the guards. Of
course, not that anything was ever easy. He was in on charges of rape and
assisted homicide, one of the victims being only fifteen. Turned out, the
inmates didn’t take kindly to child molesters. On the upside, that had gotten
him his own cell.
The visitor’s room was small, with four tables lined up in a row and one chair
on either side of each table. Two guards stood next to the exit door and the
one that had retrieved him stood by the entrance. The room had only one other
occupant, who sat at the far left table. She did indeed have dark brown hair,
falling to just bellow her shoulder blades and there was something familiar
about her, but with her face down, he couldn’t tell where he knew her from.
She didn’t look up until after he had sat down, but when she did, his heart
leapt into his throat. “Cynthia, what are you...?”
Of all the people that had come, this was the last person he’d expected. She
hadn’t said a word to him since Mitch had died. Not that he’d tried to contact
her, but considering what he’d done, what he’d let happen, he figured she
wouldn’t want to speak with him, anyway. With a nervous smile, she swirled a
strand of hair in her fingers.
He slumped in his seat and stared fixedly at her. Brown hair. “Is that, um,
your natural color?”
She nodded, “Yeah. I figured since I was going to be a mother soon, I might as
well start acting like an adult.” Mother? He hadn’t forgotten she was pregnant,
he’d just assumed she wouldn’t keep it, not after... well, everything. Cynthia
sat back a little and put her hand on her slightly bulging stomach. “Almost
five months along and going strong. I’m getting a little scared, though. It’s
kind of strange that I’ll have a baby in four months, but my moms been great.
She’s going to help take care of it so I can finish school and... it’ll be
alright.”
He bit his lip, his gaze transfixed on her stomach until she leaned forward,
covering it, still playing nervously with her hair. “How are you?”
“Why did you come here?”
She didn’t look hurt. If anything she seemed to have been expecting it and the
tension in her body relaxed somewhat. “I was really mad at you, you know that?
I couldn’t understand why you didn’t take the gun, or why you even let it
happen in the first place, but... Did you know I dropped out of school?” He
shook his head. “Yeah, well I missed so much that passing this term was going
to be impossible and with the baby and everything I figured I’d just go back
and repeat it next year. Anyway, I’ve had a lot of time to think and I kind of
realized that what you and Richard had was a lot like me and Mitch.”
“No, Cynthia, it’s nothing like that. You two were friends, real, genuine
friends.”
“You thought that with Richard, too, though, didn’t you? I’m not saying Mitch
was using me, but... I’m saying that I ignored all my better instincts and
trusted what he told me without thinking it through. I knew he was sneaking out
to go to clubs, but I didn’t tell anyone because Mitch told me that he would be
careful. When he came home, I knew what had happened, Paul, I knew everything,
but Mitch said that if I told, Richard would hunt him down and no one could
protect him, so I listened to him and I didn’t tell anyone. When he told me to
start carrying a gun, I did it. That last night, I had told him I was going to
tell his father everything, but you know I don’t think I could have, not
without his consent. I would have frozen. So, yeah, maybe Mitch wasn’t
intentionally manipulating me, but I get it. At least, a little. You did what
Richard told you because you trusted him and he abused that trust.”
Paul laughed a little, dropped his gaze to the floor. “You sound like my
lawyers. That’s their defense. I refused to deny anything, but they’re arguing
that I didn’t know what I was doing, that Richard had conditioned me to do what
he said since kindergarten. The sad thing is, I don’t think they’re wrong, I
just hate using it as a defense for what happened.”
“I know you regret it, Paul. You regretted it before it even started.” She was
right about that. He’d regretted every single boy that he let Richard get away
with murdering. “I just wanted to come and tell you that.”
“How...” he choked on a lump in his throat and forced it down. “How are his
parents doing?”
Cynthia cringed. “Not good. Chief Dearing resigned from the force and Mrs.
Dearing rarely leaves the house. If it weren’t for Frank and me, they’d
probably starve in there.”
“Frank?”
“His older brother. We’ve been taking it in turns to keep up with the chores
and make sure there’s food on the table. I can’t get a job, but Frank has, and
the Dearings have enough saved up to last for a while. Chief Dearing blames
himself for not having figured it out sooner and I think there’s more to it,
but he won’t talk about it. Not to us, anyway.”
Paul had heard quite a lot from his attorney’s, actually. He knew about the
school books and about the police questioning Jeremy and he knew about the
iPod. Jeremy refused to speak to him now and Paul couldn’t blame him.
“Also, I think you should know that Frank I are seeing each other.”
“You’re what?”
Cynthia chuckled. “Seeing each other. We’re not telling his parents just yet.
They like me and all, but I have a baby on the way and Frank is twenty-two now,
so…” She moved her hand over her stomach protectively. “I haven’t told anyone
who the father is, either. They think I just got drunk and slept with some guy,
which is bad, but...” not as bad as telling them you slept with their son’s
rapist. “Not as bad as telling them the truth and I’m not sure I ever will.”
Paul wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she should, but he knew he was
only being selfish. He wanted to be able to see the baby and her when he got
out, assuming he ever got out (which, considering the extent of the charges
against him, wasn’t very likely). Then there was always the fact that Paul
wasn’t sure he wanted out at all. He’d thought that he would be okay without
Richard, but he’d never realized the extent of his dependency. After his first
meeting with his lawyers, when he kept finding himself wanting to tell them to
do whatever Richard told them to, he was forced to admit that he didn’t have a
clue what he was doing or how to do it. God help him, but he’d never even
bought clothes without Richard standing next to him, telling him what was in
season. It was unnerving at best to suddenly realize he was utterly lost and
that every decision he made now was, quite literally, life or death.
They sat in silence for a while and Cynthia finally stood up, taking her purse
from the floor. She looked more mature now than she had in the club. It was in
the way she carried herself and perhaps even the color of her hair. It was easy
to see why the guard had thought she was nineteen. Or maybe she’d used her fake
ID again, because he couldn’t see the guards letting a fifteen-year-old in to
speak with a known pedophile.
“Well, Frank is waiting outside for me.”
Paul stood up, as well, forcing himself to speak past the tightness in his
chest. “I really am sorry, Cynthia.”
“I know.”
“I did... I loved him. Mitch, I mean.”
Her smile softened and she nodded. “I know. He loved you, too, Paul. When… if
you get out, call me.”
He didn’t do anything to stop her as she walked away, letting the guard check
her purse, but in the doorway and turned around, her eyes glinted with unshed
tears. “It’s a girl, by the way, in case you were wondering.”
She left before he could say anything and he sat there for several minutes,
struck by what she’d said. A girl. He had a daughter, or he would. Slowly, he
smiled and let the guard lead him back to his cell.
His lawyers had said that there was a good chance his sentence would be
commuted. They said that if things went their way, he’d be in a mental hospital
for a few years and then he’d be free. Up until today, that had seemed like a
worse case scenario. He’d thought he deserved the punishment and, besides, what
did he have to look forward to? His brother hated him, his parents were wary of
him, even if they still came to see him. The only friends he’d had were with
Richard and they were all in jail. Jessie was looking at the Death Penalty,
Tanner was almost guaranteed life imprisonment, and Louis and Mickey weren’t
fairing any better. If he got out, he’d be alone and Paul had never been alone.
Just thinking about it terrified him.
Now... well, maybe he wouldn’t be as alone as he’d thought.
Chapter End Notes
     ...and let the hate mail commence.
     As I said in the beginning, I originally wrote and posted this in
     2006, so I ask that, while I know you’re upset, take a moment and try
     to be original. I’m well aware that I’m a heartless bastard, but
     those words are trite and overused. Calling me a cum-sucking douche
     nozzle is much more satisfying to both the angry reader and myself.
     Just saying.
     All kidding aside, thank you for reading. Thank you to those who took
     the time to comment or kudo. Thank you to those who encouraged me to
     re-post it here and are brave enough to read it a second time,
     knowing full well what's coming. This entire thing was a recurring
     dream that I’d had for as long as I could remember and to be fair, I
     actually toned it down quite a bit while writing it. Getting this out
     on ‘paper’ and knowing people actually read and enjoyed it, even if
     they hated me for it afterwards, helped me more then I can put into
     words.
     In the next few months, I’ll be posting another original that was
     written in 2005, but never posted anywhere. It’s a much lighter read
     with horny young men, a little angst, and quite a bit of something
     bordering on fluff. It even has a happy ending for anyone who
     currently wishing you could beat me with a two by four.
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