Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13961412.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Mass_Effect:_Andromeda
  Relationship:
      Male_Ryder_|_Scott/Reyes_Vidal
  Character:
      Male_Ryder_|_Scott, Reyes_Vidal, Keema_Dohrgun, Suvi_Anwar, Kallo_Jath,
      Gil_Brodie, Kian_Dagher, Umi_Henon, Female_Ryder_|_Sara, Liam_Kosta, John
      Sheppard
  Additional Tags:
      Dysfunctional_Relationships, Dissociative_Identity_Disorder, Obsessive
      Behavior, Torture, Murder, Everyone_Is_Gay, Everybody_Dies, Everyone_Has
      Issues, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Religious_Content, Reyes
      is_Cuban, Abusive_Relationships, Moral_Ambiguity, Serial_Killers,
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Alternate_Universe_-_1980s, New_York_City, Date
      Rape, Drug_Abuse, True_Love, Soulmates, Reyes_is_a_drug_dealer, Suicide,
      this_is_seriously_dark, rape/revenge, Psychosis, Self-Loathing, Unhealthy
      Coping_Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced_Underage_Prostitution,
      institutionalization
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-13 Updated: 2018-03-28 Chapters: 19/? Words: 25522
****** Who are you? ******
by Sleeping_Hitman
Summary
     Scott is a troubled young man; no one around him is entirely safe. He
     breeds chaos, misery, and darkness wherever he goes... but also
     light.
     -Scott lurked behind a doorway, waiting. The door was cracked, so he
     could peer through, just waiting and watching. He was the Other, the
     darkness within his own mind, always aware but rarely active. There
     were more Others in here with him, a hero, a sister, a handful of
     lost boys who huddled together in another room, accidentally slipping
     out when their gracious host faltered. But not him. He may have been
     a creation of the boy on the other side of the door, but he was his
     own separate, sentient being; a superior being. The time to exert
     control was nigh.-
Notes
     By the tags alone, I've probably told you the whole story. Ha!
     In the beginning, things stay light. Simply exploring Scott in this
     AU and the connections he makes, so most of the tags won't apply 'til
     later.
     It's intended to be quite dark, so things will quickly spiral out of
     control and get outright disgusting, I'll warn ahead of time for
     those not wanting to go there with me! However, the entire work is
     one giant trigger alert, even the more lighthearted scenes.
     Also, note: Scott is introduced as 16 and Reyes as 22, so there is
     some consensual, but underage sexual content in the first few
     chapters.
     I've never posted any fics before, so I've never gotten feedback. I
     hope my writing portrays what I'm trying to get across. Bear with me,
     folks!
     And feel free to comment. I know limited Spanish and Latin and use a
     fair amount of it in this work, so if my grammar is appalling, send
     me a message and I'll change it up ASAP!
     *update - I added more tags and edited a few chapters slightly, but
     didn't add any new ones. Just back from a weekend out of town, so
     will get back to finishing up part 1!
***** mi ángel caído *****
Part 1: mi ángel caído
 
I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then. -Lewis
Carroll
 -----------------------------------------------------------
August 12, 1984
Reyes wasn’t a bad man, but neither was he good. He lived his life in hazy
shades of grey, morality being a luxury of the privileged. Not that he minded
his place in the world. He’d established himself in the city, made a name for
himself, and grown into something of a hedonist, which, ironically, some would
say was a luxury of the privileged.
He was born in Cuba to a poor family, his father absentee and mother abusive.
Those were the only details of home he would ever provide. He fled in 1980 at
the age of 18. Castro had declared that all Cubans wishing to migrate to
America where free to leave, so he packed a bag, hopped on a boat outside of
Havana and arrived in Florida the following day with over 100,000 other
immigrants. Instead of staying in Miami with most of his fellow expats, he
continued north until he found himself in New York City.
NYC was an entirely new beast to tame. He quickly had to learn how to con and
bend the rules to attain what he needed. Over the next four years, he was
established as a man who dealt in trade. Drugs, weapons, secrets. Goods for
services, or cold hard cash, he could work with whatever payment was offered.
He understood the seedy underbelly of the place he lived and flourished in it.
Reyes set up shop in a sleezy nightclub dubbed Tartarus. Red lights, caged
dancers, prostitutes running rampant. The owner, a man of dubious standards,
had worked out an arrangement with him. The details of which were quite hush
hush, but in exchange, he let Reyes take over one of the large private rooms,
previously used for “entertaining” guests.
It was there, at Tartarus, in the year of our lord 1984, that Reyes had first
met Scott.
Reyes had been doling out drugs from his back-room lair and received cash and
oral favors in return. He wasn’t expecting anyone else for the evening, so he
decided to grab a drink or five from the bar, exchange a few words with Kian,
then head home to his warehouse loft in Bushwick. He lifted himself off his
leather clad sofa and walked to the door. He locked up the room behind him,
then walked down the metal staircase that led to the main floor.
Reyes eyes scanned the room as he made his way to Kian. The owner liked to tend
his own bar whenever he could, so like most nights, he labored away serving
drinks to his (mostly underaged) patrons. He occasionally made a show at
checking IDs, but ultimately didn’t give a shit, so long as they had money to
pay up front.
 It was a night like any other, might have been a Tuesday. It was always
decently busy this time of night, regardless of the day. He watched couples
grinding to whatever non-descript synth-pop the DJ was playing, a group of
teens doing a line of coke at a booth in the corner, not as discreet as they
thought they were. He idly wondered where they got it, not from him. As he
bellied up to the bar, his eyes found a young man standing alone in the corner,
looking to be engaged in a heated conversation with himself. Even at this
distance, and the lights dimmed, he could see a pair of startlingly blue eyes.
He held up two fingers as Kian sidled over, eyes never leaving the strange boy.
He was wearing non-descript clothing, a grey hoodie, tattered skinny jeans and
high-top Chuck Taylors. Despite his outward presentation, and quite possibly
having a screw loose, Reyes was immediately smitten. “Who’s he?” he asked Kian
as he set down two glasses of Bulleit Rye, neat. He saw the other man shrug in
his periphery. No matter. Reyes was taking this boy home. End of story.
The boy must have felt Reyes watching him, because his eyes suddenly locked
onto him, staring in return. His mouth stopped moving and he seemed…
indecisive. Reyes held up a glass of the bourbon and gave him a questioning
look. The boy with the blue eyes fidgeted with the string on his hoodie,
chewing the end. Despite it likely being a nervous habit, the way he worked his
mouth was quite suggestive. He took a few hesitant steps forward at the
invitation.
In less than a heartbeat, something in the boy’s eyes shifted, turning feral,
predatorial, hungry. Eyes locked on Reyes, he began to stalk the length of the
room, wicked half grin on his face. Every step was sure and focused, he knew
what he wanted and was surely hunting it. An owl on a mouse, lion upon oryx.
Reyes couldn’t help but think he was in for a wild night with this one.
Mid stride, blue eyes shifted again, became glassy, then refocused. His steps
faltered, and he looked uncertain, like the boy had been only moments ago, like
he found it curious he was in motion. Reyes cocked his head in gesture for the
boy to join him.
As he finally reached the bar, eyes wide and sparkling in the disco lights,
Reyes handed him one of the glasses of bourbon, gave him a nod, then sipped
from his own glass. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the young man
snatched the whiskey out of his hand, “I want that one.” He downed it in one
swallow, then handed the other full glass back to Reyes. Cautious boy. Reyes
smiled a sly smile.
“Reyes,” he offered his hand in greeting. The boy was obviously waiting for him
to sip out of the suspect glass of liquid before offering information,
scrutinizing him with bold curiosity. Reyes shrugged, then downed his whiskey.
He turned and whistled at Kian, then held up two fingers and gave the man a
nod.
“Again? I’m Reyes,” this time he didn’t offer his hand, just tilted his head
and took those blue eyes in.
“Ssscott,” he popped the hoodie string back between his teeth and started
working it. Realizing that he was calling attention to his full mouth, and
noticing Reyes’ appraising stare, he blushed and quickly held out his hand,
averting his eyes. Reyes grasped the outstretched hand, but let the contact
linger, running his thumb over smooth skin.
Kian set another round of whiskey next to the two strangers. Reyes let Scott
chose his own glass. Scott grabbed one, “I’ve got time for a drink.”
“What brings you here? I’ve not seen you before.” Reyes took a sip.
“I…” Scott looked around in a daze, appearing to only now notice where he was.
“Where...?”
“Brooklyn?” Reyes offered.
“I’m… in Brooklyn,” he looked so lost. Taking a swallow of whiskey, he looked
inward for a moment, eyes glazed again. When he came back, he was suddenly
confident and cocky. He raised his eyebrows for a second and leaned towards
Reyes, “You must be Shena. Evfra’s resistance contact?”
Oh Dios mío, the boy was batshit nuts. But Reyes was intrigued, and enamored by
those ever shifting, crystal blue eyes. “Shena? Call me Reyes.” He suddenly
barked a short laugh, “I always hated code names.” He gave a sly wink.
“Scott Ryder. Have to admit, I was expecting you to be more… Angaran.”
“Angaran, I…” he shrugged and shook his head, at a loss for how to continue.
“Do you have anywhere to stay? You look a bit worse for wear.” Reyes slid a
finger down the side of Scott’s arm ‘til he reached a small hole near the
elbow.
“The tempest is docked at the port, I have quarters there.”
Reyes highly doubted the kid lived on a boat, but it wasn’t completely out of
the question. But it was out of the question to go chasing ghosts this late at
night.
“Tell you what, Scott. It’s a long ride to the docks and transport this time of
night is slim. Stay at mine and we’ll get you to the marina in the morning.”
Scott laughed and gave Reyes a quizzical grin, “Marina?! At Kadara?” He
snorted.  “The Tempest is an Initiative survey ship. It’s at the port.”  
“Survey ship, of course” Reyes slapped his forehead in mock forgetfulness. “The
closest dock for larger vessels is a couple hours from here. Lucky for you, I’m
only 4 blocks.”
Scott grabbed his hoodie string and popped it back in his mouth, no longer
seeming embarrassed by how it drew Reyes’ gaze to his lips. His eyes started
going glassy again. He moved a step closer then took Reyes’ hand in his own.
“Can we go home, now?” He asked in a husky monotone.
Reyes tipped his head back, shut his eyes and groaned to himself, I’m such a
bad, bad man.
He signaled Kian one last time. “Bottle to go. I’ll catch you up mañana.”  
Bottle of whiskey in one hand and Scott’s hand in the other, he led the boy out
the doors and into the heavy Brooklyn night air. Little did Reyes know it at
the time, and despite repeating the sentiment regularly over the next 8 years,
Scott Ryder would in fact be the death of him. That first night together began
a countdown to the end.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sex... already! And, my version of Reyes has way better hair.
It took about 10 minutes to walk to the warehouse Reyes kept his flat in. It
had been a massive, exposed brick room, empty of everything but a toilet and
utility sink when he first bought the studio space. He spent several weeks
putting up drywall to create separate rooms, installing proper bathroom and
kitchen plumbing, painting, and throwing down stone tiles and hardwood. He
furnished it with high end and designer goods bought on consignment.  It was a
lot of work, but it looked swank in the end, so it was worth the effort.
Scott’s eyes widened when they entered. “You’re rich?” He ogled shamelessly.
Reyes threw his keys on the kitchen island, set down the bottle of whiskey and
leaned back on his elbows.  “Heavens, no! I’m just very good at getting what I
want” He winked his teasing wink.
Scotts eyebrows lifted briefly as he moved forward and closed the gap between
them. “You want me.” The hoodie string was back in his mouth, bright blue eyes
framed with long black lashes gazed up at him.
Game over. Reyes pushed himself off the counter and flattened himself against
the young man, pushing him backwards with hands gripping his unruly brown hair
until Scott hit the wall with a thud. They held eye contact for a moment before
his lips came down and they met in a slow, wistful kiss, contradictory to the
force that brought their bodies together.
Scott’s trembling hands reached up to Reye’s face, then slid down his neck,
slipping under the lapels of his jacket, easing it off his shoulders and to the
floor. Reyes returned the favor by lifting Scott’s hoodie over his head, t-
shirt coming off in the process. He leaned down to kiss, pale, smooth skin,
tongue tracing the curve of Scott’s neck. He dropped to his knees, removing
Scott’s shoes, then lifted his hands to undo the button and zip of his skinny,
dark grey jeans.  He slid the pants down to his ankles, then brought his face
to Scott’s abdomen, leaving wet, teasing kisses on his belly, tongue grazing in
slow, soft circles, leisurely working his way down.  
Scott let it all happen with barely a sound, with exception of heavy breathing
and a couple small gasps when lips, tongue, or teeth caressed a particularly
sensitive area. Once Reyes’ lips finally found his shaft, mouth wide, taking in
the entire length of him in one swift, practiced motion, Scott’s head tipped
back, striking the wall with a loud thwack. A series of long, slow moans
escaped. Scott curled his fingers gently through Reyes’ dark waves, moving his
hands with the motion of his bobbing head, not wanting to upset the rhythm, but
needing to touch. “Oh, god…” he breathed. “I’m almost…” It hadn’t taken long.
He couldn’t recall feeling such a marvelous sensation before.
Reyes stopped. “Not yet,” He looked up. His speckled, amber eyes were littered
with lecherous mischief. He tugged Scott’s pants off his ankles and threw them
blindly behind him. He stood up and expeditiously removed the last few articles
of his own clothing, Scott watching with an approving stare as his athletic,
golden body was revealed.
Reyes pushed himself against Scott, wrapping his arms around his waist as he
kissed the blue-eyed stranger deeply. He felt arms slide around his neck. He
lowered his hands to firmly grasp Scott by the ass, then lifted him up, thighs
spreading to settle around his hips as he held him firm to the wall. He thrust
his hips, grinding his erection between Scott’s cheeks, the friction calling
out his need to penetrate.
Reyes walked them back into his bedroom and threw Scott down onto his back with
brutal force, causing him to bounce several times as he settled onto the bed.
Scott grunted with the shock, then laughed as he tried shifting himself up
higher on the bed. Reyes grabbed him by the ankles and slid him back down,
prone. He shoved himself between the boy’s legs and slammed his wrists down
above his head. Scott looked startled and slightly scared at the sudden
ferociousness, but when Reyes met his mouth with a wild, voracious kiss, he
kissed back just as hungrily, letting out slow, breathy moans.
Reyes sat back, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbing condoms and
lubricant. He ripped open a packet and started sheathing himself, pinching the
end and rolling the slick latex down his shaft. As he opened the cap of his
lube, Scott lifted himself up onto his elbows, a confused look creeping across
his face. He looked around the room, then up at Reyes, who had paused in his
action to watch the strange creature below him. As their gazes met, Scott let
out a small surprised gasp, his eyes widening for a second. He took in the
sight of the man looming above him, a shocked look crossing his face. He lifted
his eyebrows for a moment, then suddenly let out a sound through his teeth that
sounded like a purr.
Scott burst into a mirthful laugh, “Hi!” He bit his lip as he continued smiling
up at Reyes.
Unable to keep a small laugh from escaping his own lips, Reyes set the lube
aside and leaned over and rested his forehead on Scott’s. “Hi,”
“So… We’re… rutting” Scott tilted his head back, butting Reyes’s nose with his
own.
“Yeah,” Reyes whispered with a laugh still on his lips.
Scott put his hand behind Reyes’ head and pulled him into a devouring kiss.
Other hand groping beside him for the discarded bottle. He found it, then
pushed the bottle at Reyes to continue what he had started. “I… want you...
inside me… right now.” Reyes complied. It was short work getting Scott loosened
up enough to take him.
He watched Scott’s face as their hips worked together, back and forth. He
looked so young as he moaned and quivered beneath him, he slowed the rhythm as
a thought occurred to him, “You have done this before, right?” Scott laughed
between thrusts and answered with shaking breath, “I don’t…  know… I… can’t…
remember.” Reyes slowed the pace further. “It all feels so familiar, though,”
Scott said through a moan, “You feel familiar.” Reyes kept up the slow pace for
a time, eyeing the sighing enigma beneath him with a growing curiosity, but
need quickly overtook him.
Reyes abruptly thrust repeatedly into him hard and fast, savage and
animalistic, causing Scott’s moans to turn into a throaty wail. Scott was
becoming frantic below him, on the verge of release, as he was himself. He
lowered his sweat drenched torso down on the boy to lend friction to the cause.
It took only a few heaves before he could feel Scott erupting against his
abdomen, hot and sticky, head rearing back to the tangled sheets, crying out in
frenzied satisfaction. His reaction was enough to put Reyes over the edge.
Moments later, he was achieving the same gratifying end, enclosing Scott’s
sweat salted mouth in his own. Release. He moaned into the kiss, his hips
bucking forward in one final thrust, as deep as he could bury himself.
 Spent, breathing heavily, he put his head on the bed next to Scott’s, giving a
few last kisses to his neck, then rolled onto his back. Scott turned to his
side, facing Reyes and embraced him, shifting a leg over his thighs and an arm
around his waist. Scott looked at him with several different emotions painted
across his face. Desire, need, hesitation. Trust. Reyes shifted his arm under
Scott’s head and pulled his face to his chest. The boy nuzzled in and fell
straight to sleep. Oh, Dios mío, where did you come from? I’m a bad, bad man.
  ---
The following morning Reyes awoke to find Scott propped up on one elbow,
studying his face, arm draped across Reyes’ chest, idly fingering a patch of
soft, curly hair. “You been awake long?” He grabbed the hand, kissing the
fingertips gently, then let it drop as he stretched.
Scott’s eyes flickered to the clock on the night stand. “Couple hours.”
“And you’ve been watching me sleep the whole time?”
“Just getting to know you. I’m… afraid I don’t know your name,” he bit his
lower lip. Reyes had seen him do it often enough in the last 12 hours that he
supposed it had to be a nervous habit, like his fixation with the hoodie
string. He didn’t mind watching him do it, not at all.
“I’m Reyes,” he sat up, moving his pillow to support his back against the
headboard.  
“I’ve… woken up in all sorts of places the last couple years. I… black out? I
don’t know what triggers it, or what causes me to snap back when I do…” He
shrugged. “It’s just my life. I’m used to it. I don’t think other people get
used to it, though. I… well, thanks. It’s clear what you brought me here for,
and I obviously didn’t mind, but it’s nice to wake up in a bed and not in some
back alley, or in the middle of a knife fight or… I don’t have to leave, do I?”
Reyes shook his head during the short intermission while Scott stopped to
breathe, “You don’t have to leave.” He was a tad perplexed by his answer, but
he really didn’t want to throw the boy out. Normally he’d be hauling whoever
was in his bed out to the curb before breakfast, if not before sleep hit him.
Curious.
A look of relief crossed Scott’s face, “Oh and, that was a lot of fun. Last
night, I mean. It’s more fun than I thought it would be. Remembering things is…
nice. You’re fucking hot, by the way.  I want to do it again. With you, that
is. If that’s ok. I’m… jumbled, rambling, SO sorry.” His plump lower lip went
back between his teeth.
“It’s cute,” Reyes smiled sleepily. Shit he’s young.Reyes leaned forward,
slightly bending his knees and rested his elbows upon them, sheets falling to
his waist. He tilted his head, looking over to the bubbling Scott. “Coffee?”
Reyes’ soft wavy hair caught the glow of sunshine coming in through the window,
clouds drifting away, creating magnificent beams of illumination that cast
about the room.  Scott’s eyes lit up and a look of awe and wonder crossed his
youthful, smiling face.
“Lucifer…” he whispered. “He was the most glorious of all god’s creations. Cast
forth, he now walks among us mortals and is far too beautiful to behold. My
eyes should be ashes. Luci, mi ángel caído.” My fallen angel.
Struck dumb, Reyes stared at the sparkling blue eyes that seemed to be
memorizing every detail of his face. Finally, he found his voice, “Well…” He
cleared his throat, “I always knew I was devilishly handsome.” He gave a
bashful smile.
Scott laughed and leaned over to kiss him, pushing him back against the
pillows. “I’d like milk and honey,” he whispered into Reyes’ mouth.
“hmmm?”
“In my coffee.”
It was another hour before Reyes got up to brew them a pot.
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Later that morning, they conversed over a breakfast of coffee, toast, and fruit
in proper Cuban fashion. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, per se, for
Reyes was a laconic man and Scott had a propensity for manic rambling. A thing
that would normally bother Reyes, but something about the boy kept him
captivated, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Je ne sais quoi. So,
he listened to the peculiar, disconnected way Scott spoke and offered a word
here and there in return.
He did discover a few things of note. Scott was, indeed, as young as he seemed.
Sixteen as of last month. Reyes groaned at that. He didn’t really give a shit,
but with Scott’s mental state, he had to wonder if there weren’t family
members, hospital staff, or hell, even cops, after him. That was something he
would get to the bottom of sooner than later, but not this very moment. It
would likely slip out on its own and relieve him of the need to investigate.
He also learned that Scott had been transient for two years, having left behind
a facility he was permanently housed in. He called it Citadel, though Reyes was
sure there was a different name for it. Scott claimed no recollection of how he
escaped, and since then he had been frequently “waking up” in different cities,
weeks at a time, sometimes months, completely erased from his memory. He said
he felt like New York was where he needed to be and hoped he got to stay for a
while.
Reyes considered the information. Two years wandering. Any missing person
reports on him were likely considered cold cases by now, no chance that he’d be
placed as accessory to whatever mishaps led to the boys escape. He’d have to do
some research into this “Citadel” and see what sort of facility it was.
As Reyes was cleaning up the breakfast dishes and Scott continued his
circuitous monologue, the phone rang. Scott’s eyes went wide and darted around
the room, the sound cutting off his speech entirely. Reyes went to the phone on
the far side of the counter, pausing to quickly kiss Scott’s full lips as he
passed.
“Yeah?” He answered. Pause. Reyes groaned, “Ok, Kian, be there soon.” He hung
up the receiver and turned around to find that Scott had moved in close behind
him. They would have been nose to nose as he turned, had Scott been a couple
inches taller. Scott looked up at him with large, round eyes, then threw his
arms around Reyes’ middle.
Reyes tried to untangle himself from Scott’s embrace, but was unsuccessful,
resigning himself to gently pet the young man’s hair. He kissed the top of his
head, “I have to go back to Tartarus, there are people waiting for me. Work
stuff.” Scott squeezed harder, making Reyes grunt. He sighed, “You can come
with me, I just need to make a phone call first.”
Scott finally gave him enough slack to maneuver to the phone, but not before
nuzzling his face into Reyes’ neck, giving a wet kiss and soft bite. Reyes
cursed Kian, he wanted to feel Scott all over him again. Sighing, he turned in
the embrace, Scott now pressed firmly behind him, and picked up the phone
receiver, then spun the rotary seven times. Scott’s hands found their way
inside his shirt and caressed the patch of hair that lead down below his waist.
They migrated down, unbuttoning Reyes’ pants, then slid inside his waist band.
He tipped his head back with a moan, Scott’s mouth finding its way back to his
neck, his hand working on Reyes’ growing erection. “Fuck me,” Scott’s voice
purred into his ear.
“Scott! Serás mi muerte,” he breathed.  You’ll be the death of me.
Reyes was about to hang up the phone and attack the boy ruthlessly, but a
woman’s voice suddenly chimed over the line. “Keema! I need a very large favor
from you. Can you meet me?... Perfect… Thank you!... Yeah, on my way… Well, no.
Make that an hour… Sure,” He hung up the phone and quickly spun around.
He met Scott’s mouth with a ferocious kiss, bruising both their lips. He felt
Scott’s hands working his jeans down, then Reyes’ own pants. As soon as they
cleared his hips, he grabbed Scott by the hair and violently bent him over the
kitchen island. His eyes scanned the counter for some sort of lubricant. He
wanted to immediately demolish this boy, but he didn’t want to cause serious
injury to him. The only thing within reach was the butter he kept in a dish on
the counter. It would have to do. He slicked himself up, then went to work on
loosening Scott up as fast as possible. They had been at this last night and
again only a couple hours ago, so it didn’t take much. Within a minute, he was
fully inside giving a savagely forceful pounding.  The butter felt nice.
The forty minutes it took for them to both find release had Scott screaming so
loud that Reyes had to gag him with a kitchen towel. He liked to be dominant
and extremely rough, and Scott seemed to get a wicked thrill from being thrown
about and taken. The more ferocious and wild Reyes became, the more Scott
screamed for him to push things farther. Harder, faster, hurt me. It drove
Reyes mad with need.
When they were finished engaging in their midday carnal endeavor, Reyes gently
slipped out of Scott, helping him stand upright on shaking legs, pulling his
jeans back into place. Scott’s face was slick with tears. Reyes removed the
towel from Scotts mouth and wiped his cheeks dry. Scott leaned in and gave him
the softest, sweetest kiss he ever felt. “Luci, ángel. Thank You.” Reyes had no
words, so kissed him back just as gently.
After the kiss ended and Reyes’ was buttoning up his own pants, Scott pouted at
him. “My head itches where you pulled my hair.” Scratching vigorously at his
scalp, Scott stuck his lower lip out teasingly, glare promising repayment
later. Reyes laughed, eyes sparkling.
Reyes was falling, already cherishing this darling boy he had known less than a
day. He would be falling every day for the next eight years, falling until the
earth crashed around him to swallow him up in her arms.
Eight years. Such a long time for youth, but a brief flicker to those long
accustomed to life and living. Eight years, an eternity, only a day, they were
together before the entire world fell apart. Before they fell. In those eight
years, rarely a day passed when they weren’t in each other’s arms, gasping and
clawing and rutting like wild things.
But, as it’s been said, all things must come to an end. On October the 4th,
1992, the light would end.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Meet Liam!
January 3, 1981 Halifax, NS
Citadel Hill psychiatric unit
 
“Ryder, how’s your survival training?”
That was Liam. Scott just met him hours prior. And now they were trapped on
Habitat 7, their shuttle in pieces and no link to the rest of their crew. SAM
was offline. Shit.
“I’ve seen my share of troubles. Nothing crazy, but…”
“Well, crazy just found us. Those rocks out there are floating.” Liam pointed
off to the distance. The electrostatic charge of the storm was so great that it
caused objects to levitate immediately before streams of lightening lashed out.
 
“Terra incognita…” Scott was focused on staying out of the path of the oncoming
flashes of energy.
“Some of these plants look like tentacles… Is the water here even water?”
Scott shrugged. “Oh, and safety tip? Don’t breathe the air. I found that out
the hard way.” Scott’s helmet had cracked upon landing, gasping for breath, he
was able to mend the small fissure and get his oxygen supply functioning
properly. But it was a close one.
“Got it. You think that energy cloud we saw could cause all this?”
<“What are you boys talking about?” voices in the air, unheard by the young
men.>
“SAM said it’s dark energy, but that’s in space…”
“Yeah, hell of a cloud!”
“A cloud that makes boulders float.”
The lightening around them picked up in intensity. Flashes of light crackled
all around them. “What the hell is this!” yelled Liam, looking around at the
scene in dismay.
<“Language, Liam! We don’t say Hell here.” Scolded the unheard voice.>
“C’mon! We gotta get through it!” Scott picked up the pace as they darted
around streams of sizzling energy.
“This is crazy!”
“Welcome to Habitat 7, Kosta! Keep moving!”
<“Will you two sit still! You’re riling everyone up!”>
“Looks safer under there!” Scott pointed to a sheltering tunnel through the
side of the cliff and headed towards it.
<“Out from under the table! You’ll knock something over!” the voice was still
unheard by the two explorers.>
“Is this for real? What the hell is going on with this place?”
“The planet’s trying to murder us?”
They were approaching the end of the safe zone, the sky looming above, ready to
strike. But they still had to find the others and try to find a way off this
inhospitable world.
“How’s your gun? Might want to see if it’s working. Take a shot at that fuel
cell, it’s busted anyway.”
BANG. Scott’s gun rang out as he tested his firearm. “I’d say it’s working.”
<“Where did you get those! Crackers are for snack time only! Stop throwing
them, right this minute!”>
The two young men continued their search for a time, Scott holstering his
weapon as they climbed up the cliff to find higher ground, stopping to
investigate the strange flora of the new planet.
“How’d my dad find you, Kosta?”
“I was a cop. Then crisis response.”
“Yeah?” Scott was impressed.
“Tell you over a beer sometime!”
As they climbed up the final ledge, they caught sight of wreckage, the other
half of their shuttle that had crashed. Liam darted forward, “Ryder look! It’s
Fisher…”
Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him down behind a boulder for cover. “Wait!”
he hissed. “Look!”
Fisher was hiding behind an upturned crate as two hostile looking creatures
with guns scouted the area.
 “Holy shit!”
<“Liam, language! Get out from behind that chair!”>
 “What was first contact protocol again?” Liam asked hurriedly.
“No deadly force unless fired upon.”
“Yeah, said no one in the field ever. How do we handle it?” Liam was looking
awful nervous.
“Just be ready if this goes south.”
“It usually does… Just say the word and I go hot.”
“They haven’t spotted us yet.” Scott was breathing hard and had trouble keeping
his hands from shaking as he crept forward, pistol drawn.
“What’s that guy doing? Shit… They’re beating Fisher!”
Scott and Liam opened fire on the hostile creatures, both emptying their clips
several times. Once the enemies were down, they ran to help Fisher.
 ---
"Please boys, stop!” yelled Dr. T’perro. “I don’t want to have to restrain
you!”
A hail of animal crackers rained down upon T’Perro and the burly nurse Gary as
they tried to coral the two teenagers away from the other residents. A mighty
lion hit her square on the nose.
“Get away from Fisher!” Scott screamed and lunged for her, a sociopathic rage
suddenly flared in his blue eyes. But mighty Gary was there, grabbing Scott by
the collar and throwing him flat to the floor. With a knee between his shoulder
blades, Gary expertly drove a syringe of Secobarbital into a vein in Scott’s
neck. The boy was asleep in moments.
“Liam…” T’Perro warned.
“I know, I know.” Liam put his hands up and started backing away. “I was just
having fun. Playing along and whatever, you know how it is.”
“His delusions are dangerous, Liam. Please, don’t encourage him.”
Liam sighed, sat on one of many not-so-sterile sofas in the community room, and
went to work finishing the last of the animal crackers in his bag.
T’Perro held her hand out to him and arched an eyebrow. “You know the rules…”
Liam rolled his eyes and sighed, then resigned himself to handing over the
contraband.
“Now, help me clean up this mess. Group is starting in ten.”
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Here's Keema, Suvi and Kallo!
     Umi's a jerk.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
August 13 1984
Keema’s car pulled up to Tartarus, double parking briefly as her driver stepped
out and opened the door for her. She was big money and loved to show it off.
Fancy cars, designer clothes and boatloads of cocaine. She was currently being
chauffeured in a Bentley Eight, British model with the steering wheel on the
right.
She was born and raised in London, though her parents were from India
originally. They were old money, descendants of some old line of nobles she
cared little to learn about. Despite being heiress to a massive fortune, she
was intelligent and had the drive to make her own wealth.
Keema was high fashion and knew all the right people. She did massive PR
campaigns for Yves Saint Laurent and Christian Lacroix (who she wore
exclusively), attended movie premiers with starlets and frequently hosted
events during NY fashion week. She was back and forth from London constantly
and only flew first class. She often joked about buying a private jet.
She knew Reyes at first as a customer. He would “cater” events she hosted,
supplying every party favor her upper-class guests could ever wish for. They
all adored the exotic southern stranger with his lilting accent, so he became
permanently on-call and she used his services exclusively. They frequently
conversed, shared wine, had a laugh, and when she realized she really did like
the cut of his jib, they became both confidants and lovers. She knew he slept
with everyone, and so did she, so it was a perfect match, no feelings involved,
just the pure fun of the moment. They were also both creatures of discretion
and knew their secrets would never leave the other’s lips.
Keema’s curiosity spiked when she received the phone call an hour ago, he was
usually more upfront about what he wanted from her. She wondered what he was up
to as she pulled her long, slender body out of the back seat of the Bentley,
taking the hand offered to her from her driver. “Be a dear and wait here.”
She sashayed across the sidewalk and in through the door like a gazelle, long
pearl necklace swaying to her slender hips with her stride. As she approached
the bar, the barkeep looked up and smiled at her, “Welcome back, Keema!”
“Oh, Kian darling! Is our man in? I’m to meet him forthwith.”
Kian poured her a glass of his best red wine. “He’s on his way, lass.”
They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes while Keema enthusiastically
sipped her wine. Kian knew her tastes and kept her favorite pinot on hand at
all times. She downed two glasses and was on her third when Reyes appeared, a
dazzlingly beautiful young man clinging to his side.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Keema!”
“Oh, the clouds have parted and here is the sun,” She stood and kissed Reyes on
either cheek in greeting. “Please, do tell! Who is your dashing companion?” She
put her hand gracefully on her hip and bent her knee.
“Keema, this is Scott. Scott, Keema.” The young man hesitantly held his hand
out to her. Her elegantly long fingers brushed his in greeting, her eyes
soaking up the sight of him.
Reyes turned his head to Kian, “Is John still here?”
“Nope, said he’d come back at 1.”
Reyes nodded. “Good. Scott, stay with Kian for a moment, I need to speak with
Keema.”
Scotts eyes widened, but he shrugged and mouthed the word okay.
As Keema was led up the stairs into Reyes’ private room, she could hear Scott
start prattling cheerily at Kian, the older man laughing a full bellied laugh.
Reyes unlocked the door and let her enter first. They sat next to each other on
the leather sofa, Reyes getting down to business immediately.
“Keema, if you’re free for the day, I’d be forever in your debt if you could
look after Scott. I don’t think he has anywhere to go and I’m a bit worried for
him.”
She was bewildered by the request, “Darling, since when did you ever take in
strays? For more than a night of fun, that is! This is so unlike you.” She had
just spent the night with Reyes a few days ago, so she knew Scott was a brand-
new addition.
 “I know,” He replied, looking as confused as she felt. “I feel like I’m under
a spell or something, like… I can’t explain it. I want to help him. No, I need
to help.”
Keema shook her head in astonishment. She understood, though. In that brief 30
second introduction, she felt mesmerized, knew she’d probably bend over
backwards to get the boy whatever he needed. Maybe it was his pheromones. That
had to be it. Keema idly wondered if everyone he met was instantly charmed as
she, and obviously Reyes, was. She would do anything for Reyes, regardless, but
she felt herself eager to get to know Scott.
“Alright, Reyes. But I’m not a babysitter. We’re having a full day of it.” She
pointed her wine glass at him as she spoke, enunciating the last four words
boldly, then finished the remaining liquid in one swallow.
“Keema, I’d be lost without you” He leaned over and gently kissed her nose.
He filled her in briefly on Scott’s strange manner and what he witnessed of the
personality shifts. It seemed he didn’t want her taking on this task completely
blind, a fact that she was grateful for, though she wasn’t exactly keen on the
idea of having to deal with potential mood swings and alternate personalities.
That’s what books and movies were for.
They stood up as one and proceeded back down the stairs to join the others at
the bar. Scott and Kian were doing a shot of yellow liquor that smelled
suspiciously like tequila as they approached. Reyes walked over to Scott and
put a hand around his waist, then whispered something in his ear. The boy
looked up at him with those dazzling blue eyes, then stood on his toes and
leaned in for a kiss, arms wrapping around Reyes neck.
To Keema it seemed the kiss lasted ages longer than a standard goodbye. Shit,
Reyes had it bad. The two young men finally parted with reluctance, a look of
loss crossed Reyes face briefly as Scott walked in her direction and away from
his new lover. She noticed Reyes shake his head, as if clearing a fog, then
gave her a salute before heading back towards the stairs. Scott’s young face
was glowing, radiant. He put her hand in his and smiled, her heart melted.
 ----------
Keema and Scott polished off the bottle of wine with Kian before leaving
Tartarus. On their way out, a tall, muscular man with short buzzed hair
strolled in. Keema recognized him as one of the cops Reyes had worked out a
deal with, the details of some of those arrangements were interesting, to say
the least. She knew this man to be fairly straight laced though, keeping Reyes
off the radar in exchange for occasional bits of information. “Shepherd, our
man awaits you with bated breath,” she teased.
He rolled his blue eyes, almost as remarkably clear and crystalline as Scotts.
“Keema.” He walked passed her and went straight up the stairs, ignoring Kian
altogether.
Keema felt Scott’s hand shift in hers. She looked over to him and saw his eyes
take on a glassy appearance. “Commander Shepherd and his team saved humanity
from the reapers. Someday, I will thank him.” He looked over to her, “But
first, Suvi and Kallo will want to be filled in. Let’s go!”
She led him out to her car and the driver stepped out to open the door for
them. Scott’s eyes went wide, “You’re rich, too.” He looked befuddled.
“Disgustingly so,” she laughed. “Entre vous.”
Scott gave an address in Manhattan to the driver and they departed. He sat
extremely close to her and held her hand tight for the whole drive. He
chattered away about the Andromeda Initiative as they drove up Broadway and
crossed the Williamsburg bridge. As it turns out, Scott was in a stasis pod for
over 630 years while the Ark Hyperion made its way through dark space to the
neighboring Andromeda galaxy, only to find chaos and destruction upon arrival.
He’s been leading a team of surveyors through potentially habitable worlds,
resetting terraforming vaults left behind from a long departed, ancient
species, far more technologically advanced than humanity. Keema just stared at
him, thoroughly amused, but saying little. Oh, Reyes! I hope you know what
you’ve gotten yourself into!
As they drove north, approaching the garment district, Scott started gushing
about Reyes (though he kept calling him Shena). He unconsciously brought their
clasped palms to his face, his cheek idly nuzzling the back of her hand. He
brought his plump lips to her fingertips and kissed them, lazily caressing with
the tip of his tongue.
Keema felt a surge of warmth flood through her at the touch, completely
perplexed at the boy’s animal magnetism. He was bonkers, no one should pay him
any mind, lock him up and forget him. But somehow, he captivated her. And
everyone around him, it seemed. She took her free hand and placed it on the
side of his face and pulled him in gently for a kiss.
His lips were warm and soft as they parted against hers, tongue still tasting
of the wine they drank earlier. “You are the queen of everything,” he whispered
as they kissed. It didn’t last long, as the Bentley had finally reached its
destination. Keema felt a sense of disappointment as his face pulled away from
hers.
When the car pulled in to the marina, Scott’s eyes lit up. They were at pier 86
in Hell’s Kitchen. “The Tempest awaits!” He darted out of the car before the
driver could get out to open the door, nearly taking Keema’s arm off before he
remembered to let go of her hand.
Keema sighed, then gracefully sauntered after him. She watched him jump aboard
a 60-foot sloop and started chirping enthusiastically at a couple who were
lounging on the deck, sipping drinks with little umbrellas. Keema hoped he knew
them, though she suspected that even if they didn’t, they would quickly come to
embrace his crazy and want to keep him.  He waved at her to hurry. She saw the
name “Tempest” scrawled across the side of the boat in an elegant cursive
script. At least that part of his story was real.
As Keema approached the deck, Scott ran back over to her, offering a hand to
help her mount the railing and step aboard. Keema appraised her surroundings.
There were a series of flags hanging from a rope tied between two masts that
looked to be the standards for Bahamas, Scotland and a few others she didn’t
recognize. Among them was also a Jolly Roger and a rainbow flag. The main deck
was massive for a sailboat, lounge chairs laid out next to a make-shift mini
bar, bottles of vodka and rum stacked neatly on a wine rack.
Two of the chairs were occupied, and with Scott plopping down beside them, they
made for a quite disparate group. Scott introduced the man as Kallo, “The best
damn Salarian pilot the Initiative has ever seen!” He was extremely tall and
lanky with a shaved head and glasses that made his already large eyes seem
huge. His nose was slightly upturned, and his lips were thin lines that had
little definition. He had a vague alien-esque appearance to him. The woman was
introduced as Suvi, “Our tactical engineer and snack maker extraordinaire!” She
had dark red hair and a dark tan, quite beautiful, Keema thought. When she
spoke it was with a thick Scottish accent.
 Keema took a chair beside Scott, kicked off her shoes and rolled up the hem on
her loose worsted slacks to revealed perfectly curved, light brown calves. She
was silky cream with a hint of coffee. She removed her neck scarf, undid the
top button of her blouse and leaned back to enjoy the sun, long dark curls
cascading over her shoulder. Suvi placed a drink in her hand as they chatted
and got to know one another.
The day was wonderful, relaxing. They spent some time with delightful rum
cocktails on the deck, getting tipsy and laughing. Suvi told them a story about
how Scott had come home to the Tempest late one night with a fistful of cash, a
bleeding forehead and a black eye, clad in nothing but skivvies and a devilish
grin. He had apparently lost all his money at poker, along with most of his
clothes. The man he had been playing with sent the rest of his mates home and
was about to have his way with Scott… before his pregnant wife came home and
threw a tumbler of rum at the pair of groping guys. The man had ducked in time,
the glass hitting Scott square in the eye, gashing him open just above his
brow. Scott’s quick hands grabbed as much money as he could off the table,
darted out the door and ran, laughing all the way back to the marina. When they
asked him what happened, Scott just started in with fits of renewed laughter,
“Jill is PISSED!” Suvi laughed, “He shoved the piles of cash into the top of my
shirt and said, ‘tell Jill I already spent it’. Damned fastest 500 I ever
made…” They lost a good mechanic that night, Gil grudgingly informing them the
next day that he had to stay on land and tend to Jill’s bruised ego.
Suvi looked over at Scott’s beaming face with genuine affection.
Keema was eyeing the boy, as well. “How long has Scott been with you?”
Scott chimed in, “I woke up from cryogenics about six months ago. I miss Gil.
He used to kiss me.” He snickered, then pointed with both hands towards his
crotch. “Down there.”
Kallo spoke up this time, around choking laughter. “We were about to set sail
when he appeared out of nowhere one day. Been along for the adventure since
then. Six months, give or take.” He took a long swallow of his cocktail and
continued on. “We were in the Keys deciding where to go when he popped his head
up from below decks and threw some charts at us, bossing us around like he
owned the place. Only took about five minutes before we decided to keep our
little stow-away.” He had a thin, quivering voice that matched his odd face.
Scott suddenly jumped up, tipping over his empty glass. He ran to the rigging
and started prepping the boat for departure. “Kallo! Hoist the main sail, I
want wind dammit! Tallyho!”
They spent the next several hours sailing through the water, salt spray in
their faces. Keema slipped down to her undergarments, not wanting to ruin the
precious fabric of her clothing, while Suvi pulled her aside to lend her shorts
and halter that fit nearly perfect. It had been some time since she was out in
the open water and cherished every moment. Within an hour they were down to the
lower bay, past Brighton Beach and out into truly open water. She could see New
York to the North and Jersey to the south as small patches of land on the
horizon.
As keema held on to the railing and leaned into the wind, she felt Scott come
up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She glanced over her
shoulder and noted that Suvi and Kallo were manning the sails like true
professionals, leaving Scott to his whims.
She couldn’t tell if he was holding her out of comfort or if he had some other
motives, and he made no move to prove one way or the other. He simply stood at
her back, pressed against her, chin resting on her shoulder, cheek to cheek.
His arms holding her tight. Who are you, duckling? They stayed holding each
other for the remainder of the voyage, front to back or side to side, sometimes
only grasping hands. He seemed to need the physical contact, but never pushed
it farther than touch. Something childlike and innocent in it. She knew that if
she weren’t doing this as a favor to Reyes, she would have easily justified
taking advantage of the situation, and wondered to herself just how many people
had, indeed, taken advantage of him in his short lifespan.
As the sun started setting, they veered the boat back towards the bay and
eventually made their way north to Manhattan, Hell’s Kitchen, Pier 86. Keema
gave Scott a soft brush of her lips against his, then detached herself to go
below deck and don her own garments again. As she climbed the ladder back up to
the deck, she saw Scott embracing a laughing Suvi in a bear-hug, swinging her
in circles.
“I’ll be at Tartarus with Shena. Come have a drink later!”
“Aye, we get ya oot yer tree, lad!”
“’til the sky is down, and the grass is up!” Scott finally set Suvi back on her
own two feet, both dizzy from spinning.
As Scott saw Keema approach, he vaulted over the side of the rail to land with
a thud on the docks. He held out his hand for her and helped her over the side
for the second time that day. They walked hand in hand back to the Bentley.
Her driver was walking back to the vehicle as they approached, hot dog in one
hand, lidded paper cup with a straw in the other. The sight of the food
reminded Keema that they hadn’t eaten much during the voyage, just a few
handfuls of roasted nuts Suvi kept on hand. She knew it would be at least
another couple hours before Reyes would be ready to pack up shop for the
evening, so she instructed her driver to take them to East Harlem.
Using the high-tech car phone in the back seat, she dialed a number, paused,
then started speaking. “Darling! It’s Keema. Do be a dear and tell Bo we will
be joining him, presently… I have one guest with me… Oh thank you, love.” She
leaned over and gushed at Scott, “I hope you’re fond of Italian. Rao’s is to
die for.”
Scott just smiled and held her hand, brilliant pools of cerulean gleaming over
at her. She realized how bedraggled they must look to others, with sun kissed
cheeks and wind whipped hair. Scott was in tight jeans and a grey Scorpions t-
shirt he had procured from the Tempest, both a bit worse for wear. She
shrugged, no help for it this time of night.
 ---
It was 1245 by the time they made their way back to Bushwick, entering Tartarus
with bellies stuffed with pasta and even more wine. Keema was giddy but fully
exhausted. She scanned the bar and saw Reyes, leaning back with one elbow
resting on the bar, glass of scotch in the other hand. He spotted them
immediately, a warm smile spreading across his face, eyes locked on Scott. He
motioned at the woman behind the bar, blue dreadlocks to her chin and even
bluer eyeshadow framed her delightful face. He ordered wine as Keema
approached.
Scott quickened his last few steps and threw his arms around the man’s neck,
receiving a full, deep kiss in return that lasted several minutes. Keema had to
clear her throat several times before their lips broke contact.
The blue haired bartender slammed two glasses down on the counter and yelled in
a husky voice, “Get a room!” then flicked them off with two fingers in British
fashion. She came back and slammed the bottle of wine down next to the glasses.
Reyes laughed, “thanks, Umi.” She rolled her eyes. Keema liked her.
Keema filled him in on their adventure aboard the Tempest as they made short
work of the wine. Reyes looked surprised at that, then shrugged. “It seems
you’ve captured the affections of a young pirate, darling. I do hope you share
him with me again, soon! But, I must be gone, post haste. I’ve a brunch with
Yves’ assistant tomorrow.” With that she gave each young man a quick kiss on
the lips, then departed with a practiced flourish. She left a $100 tip for Umi.
 ---
Reyes smiled at Keema’s departing backside. He always did appreciate the finer
things in life. He looked over and noted Scott’s eyes in the same direction, he
seemed to be purring. Reyes laughed, as he suspected Keema likely had her way
twelve times over with the boy during their outing. Reyes had never been
jealous, especially not with Keema, they shared everything. But suddenly, like
a stranger wielding a jagged knife, he got stabbed by it. Reyes was perturbed
by the feeling, his brows furrowed in chagrin. He decided he’d talk to Keema
later and see that she didn’t sleep with Scott in the future. Maybe he’d stop
sleeping with Keema, too. And lord knows, she has a swarm of beautiful young
men ready to worship her at the drop of a hat. She doesn’t need us…  
Reyes shook his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. You’ve known him for 24
hours, hijo de puta.
Scott looked up at him and seemed to read his thoughts. His fingers brushed
Reyes’ lips as he leaned in close. “Keema’s the queen of everything, no one
tells her ‘no’.” He moved his face in, nearly touching, “But she doesn’t take
what’s yours, Luci.” His lips made contact and Reyes melted.
“Come upstairs with me,” Reyes didn’t want to wait to get home. His body felt
starved, like he’d been deprived of nourishment for months. He couldn’t wrap
his mind around the growing sensation, he almost felt drugged in the young
man’s presence. His head swam, need enveloping him like a sweater in the dead
of winter.
They moved up the stairs as one, Reyes dizzy and Scott with shining eyes. He
noticed the boy had stopped halfway up, and seemed to be whispering to himself,
something in Latin. Reyes caught the last of the words.
“Over the edge and my steps will not falter.”
He held out his hand and as Scott grasped it, he felt they were both wrapped in
light, all the skin on his body buzzing with voltaic urgency. He wasn’t aware
of anything but the contact for a moment, momento lux, and in that moment, he
found himself behind the locked door, Scott below him on his sofa, legs tangled
around his waist.
Prismatic columns of energy flickered away from them, created by the friction
of hips in motion, spire embedded firmly within supple flesh. The resplendent
creature beneath him urged him on, faster, harder, until the crackling energy
was so tangible that clouds formed. Reyes thought he felt drops of rain on his
back.
He would definitely have to ask Umi what she dropped in his whiskey. That
vixen.
 ---
Scott moved with the herald of dawn, each stair turning into a luminous cloud
as he stepped, floating him upwards, oblivious to peril for he was already
dead. Sweet laughter echoed through the fog, Scott’s fingers caught
butterflies. He followed the morning star, the golden aura of Venus. The halo
grew brighter whenever Luci’s eyes, heather speckled pools of gilt, brushed his
own unworthy eyes. I’ll follow you to the beyond, abyssus abyssum invocat,
we’ll fall together, ángel. momento lux, luciferum lucetis. Over the edge and
my steps will not falter.   
A golden arm reached for him and he embraced it. He floated through space and
time, wrapped up in the illumination of the Other. Soft singing arms enveloped
him and kept him warm as his clothes melted away.
The sofa looked like leather, but soft blades of grass tickled his skin as he
was laid on his back. A being of pure radiance glowed above him, illuminating
the room with the light of a thousand suns. Glowing tendrils caressed his lips
while others grazed across his hips to his groin. Something slowly crept inside
him, curling around, hitting a spot that sent a thrilling jolt of ecstasy
through his body. Scott’s legs wrapped themselves around the light, feeling wet
warmth on his shaft, his hips moving in rhythm. It wasn’t enough.
Scott saw the face of the golden man through the blinding halos. He pulled the
face up to his and kissed him, soft rose petals and a mouth full of honeyed
nectar with each brush of his tongue. The golden man, a golden Adonis, reared
up as something filled him, he looked like a creature of pure gilt, no longer
human. “Momento lux.” He traveled through the bliss and landed at Heaven’s
gates. Aurelian light sprayed a breathtaking corona over them as hips moved as
one, and Scott knew God loved him.
Chapter End Notes
     I mention John Shepherd in passing, but fully intend to bring him
     into the story at some point, I just haven't decided where I want the
     good cop/bad cop thing to play out yet.
     Gil is also mentioned, his story will be up shortly!
     And yes, Umi dropped acid in their wine. I'm planning on writing a
     side chapter on her that I think will be lots of fun.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     A flashback to six months ago.
Chapter Notes
     There's some senseless killing in this part, but not graphically
     depicted. It's super short!
     Also, not particularly edited, so the chapter might change or be
     fleshed out a bit more later
Feb 1, 1984Key Largo, Fl
Cat and Mouse had it made, the caper gone off without a hitch. Moose and
Squirrel helped them load the duffle bags into the trunk of the getaway
vehicle, then they all packed in tight and drove to the marina, Diamondback at
the wheel. Cat and Mouse eyed each other from the back seat of the car, gave a
knowing look and smiled.
Once they arrived at the marina it was short work for the five ne’er do wells
to get the duffels from the trunk to their boat, Normandy II, though, one of
them was heavier, leaking blood, and took both Moose and Squirrel to heave it
aboard. Once everything was loaded, Diamondback hopped back into the car to
ditch it ten miles up the road where another driver was waiting for him. He had
a separate getaway.
Cat and Mouse, and Moose and Squirrel went to work, prepping the boat to set
sail. Ten minutes later, Normandy II was cast off into the chilly night air.
Once they were out of sight of the docks, they turned on the motor, lit the
deck with florescent lantern lights, and set course for the Bimini islands. Two
hours into the voyage, as everyone was at ease and laughing at their success,
Cat and Mouse gave each other a nod, simultaneously pulled out their guns and
shot Moose and Squirrel in the head. The bodies were kicked overboard, then the
heavy, bleeding bag tossed after them.
Mouse was about to head back to man the rudder, when a shuffling sound came
from below decks. The hatch flew back and a pair of brilliant blue eyes poked
through, a young boy climbing his way up the ladder with a grin. A pair of guns
trained at him.
“Kallo! Suvi! I’ve got something you’re gonna want to see! C’mon!” The head
darted back below. With a sigh, Mouse cut the engine and followed Cat below,
prepared to end the boy quickly and efficiently. Mouse really didn’t want to
clean blood out of the cabin, again.
 The boy’s eyes lit up as he saw them approach. He had sea charts sprawled all
over the galley table. “Look here! I’ve procured maps to Meridian. In a few
short days we’ll be swimming in a golden world all of our own. Suvi, set our
course! Kallo, prepare for departure. SAM and I will inspect the FTL drive and
thrusters. The Tempest heads out at Dawn!”
Cat and Mouse still had their weapons drawn at the boy, but he didn’t seem to
notice. Something about him warmed the pair of fugitives, Mouse lowering her
weapon first, shortly followed by Cat. “And what would you have us call you,
lad?” Mouse drawled in a thick Scottish accent.
The boy looked perplexed, like it was quite obvious. “Pathfinder. I’ll help
guide you to a new, perfect future.” He beamed at them, his smile warming the
chill out of the February air. In less than five minutes the boy had them both
under his spell.
 
The following morning, Cat and Mouse (or now known as Kallo and Suvi) docked at
Alice Town. Four hours later, the name Normandy II was painted over. The boat
was renamed Tempestat the Pathfinder's insistence. Who the hell was this kid?
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     A chat with John and a bit of info on Sloan.
August 15, 1984
Scott lurked behind a doorway, waiting. The door was cracked, so he could peer
through, just waiting and watching. He was the Other, the darkness within his
own mind, always aware but rarely active. There were more Others in here with
him, a hero, a sister, a handful of lost boys who huddled together in another
room, accidently slipping out when their gracious host faltered.  But not him.
He may have been a creation of the boy on the other side of the door, but he
was his own separate, sentient being; a superior being. The time to exert
control was nigh.
He had watched as the boy clung to the man called Reyes, watched them walk the
short distance to Tartarus and greet everyone in the room. Watched as the lithe
swan that was Keema embraced him with a “Darling, my world shines ever brighter
for your presence.” He thought of a long list of things he wanted to do to that
perfect body… but not yet. He felt the boy’s eyes droop and heard him let out a
little purr at his thoughts. Not yet!
The man called Reyes leaned in and kissed him, Scott urged the boy outside his
door to nip the man’s lower lip before the contact ended. He liked this one, he
didn’t treat him like some broken thing, fucked him like a perfervid machine.
He was a beast, a predator, the silent king stalking his concrete jungle. It
was… intoxicating. Keema could definitely wait.
Scott watched as Reyes brushed his eyes across him one last time, a promise of
sin in that look, then went up the stairs to his room of illicit guarantees. A
spaced-out woman with a scab on her lip and black circles under her eyes crept
out from a booth along the wall and slowly made her way up the stairs to
follow. So nefarious… it gave Scott a thrilling pulse up his spine to think
about her story. The boy on the outside shivered, then took up Keema’s hand,
smiling bright and happy, unaware of the lurking majesty within.
He sat at the bar and was handed a glass of blood red liquid. Wine, exquisite
wine! The sweet nectar filled him with life, made the boy on the outside
softer, more pliable, easier to control from within. A second, then a third
glass. A pleasant warmth filled him that he briefly embraced, then partitioned
away, the sudden drunkenness now solely belonging to the outside.
The man with the short, military hair and guarded blue eyes strolled in through
the doors. Scott left his barstool and walked up to him. “Commander Shephard,”
the boy outside held out his hand to the worn man in greeting. Those suspicious
blue eyes met Scott’s. Periwinkle of a mid-summer storm locked onto cerulean of
a tropical ocean wave. At that meeting of eyes, Scott exerted the full force of
his will, an invisible swell pulsing outward, ensnaring the man within the
currents.
Shepard cleared his throat then clasped the outstretched hand. “Captain,
actually.” Scott heard the unspoken question behind the man’s stare. They’ve
put my name up for Commander… how would you possibly know that?
Captain, so not a beat cop after all. This one might come in handy to have
under his thumb. Scott stood close, to any other two strangers meeting it would
be uncomfortably close, but Scott new he was having the desired effect.
The boy on the outside kept his hand clasped in the other’s, gazing up into a
face lined from years of stress on the job. Scott continued pushing his will
onto the man, not entirely sure how it worked, but when he suddenly felt the
ebb and flow of a tide between them, he knew he had accomplished his goal. Knew
this man’s energy and his were now interconnected, he had the control he
wanted.  
When Scott allowed the boy outside the door to speak, all he said was, “Thank
you for saving us all. We owe you a great debt.” Then he walked back to Keema
and reclaimed his spot at the bar. He could feel the man’s gaze brush over him
several times as he ascended the metal stair case and finally closed the door
to Reyes’ den of secrets behind him. Scott smiled, then closed his own door
within the shared mind, letting the boy take full reins for a time.
 ---
Reyes looked up as the door opened and John walked in, a confused look on his
face. “Who’s that boy downstairs?”
Reyes shrugged. “That’s Scott… He showed up less than a week ago and charmed
the pants right off of everyone… Even Umi.” John’s eyes widened in surprise at
that. Umi hated everyone. Period. But Scott had come in last night after a day
on his boat, said three words to her and she… smiled. Reyes was certain it was
one of the signs of the apocalypse.
“It’s going to sound curious,” John said, “but I get this feeling like I know
him from somewhere. I want to help him with… I don’t know what. Need to help
him.”
Reyes was uncomfortable. That was the exact feeling he had for the boy, the
same sentiment he expressed to Keema, though he was certain John’s impulses
towards him were significantly less perverted than his own. Or, shit, maybe
they weren’t. Reyes’ unease grew at his thoughts and wanted to shout Back off!
Scott’s mine! But he let it slide as he watched John shake his head like he was
clearing it of his own unwanted thoughts, a look crossing his face like he just
realized where he was and who he was talking to.
John walked the expanse of the room and took a chair directly across from
Reyes, then eyed the sleeping, scabbed woman on the floor in the corner. Reyes
followed Johns gaze for a moment, then looked back at the man, getting a
questioning frown. Reyes just shrugged again, then got up and gently woke her
up, helped her stand and ushered her through the door. “sorry, time for you to
go.”
“But you didn’t give me anything!” she whined.
“And I won’t be giving you anything.”
“Just let me blow you!”
“Not today, time to go.” He had to physically coax her across the threshold
with a push and locked the door behind her. Loud banging and “Let me in,
fucker!” was the response. After a few minutes the noise stopped, the woman
resigned to her drug free fate.
“Now! What can I do for you today, captain?” Reyes asked, though he already
knew the answer to that. John only ever came by for info on Sloan Kelly, it was
their deal. A real piece of shit, that woman. She pimped out sex workers (both
willing and unwilling participants in the trade), and occasionally dealt drugs
and guns, out of a series of grubby old warehouses in Queens. Problem was, her
location moved all the time, so the cops were having a helluva time tacking her
down while a deal was in progress. There were undercover agents working their
way into her gang, but progress was slow. So, John came to Reyes for extra bits
of information.
John called Reyes his CI, though it was all very unofficial and off the books.
Reyes had too much dirt on the department and John wasn’t going to topple their
precarious arrangement if he could avoid it. So, Reyes’ name stayed out of any
paperwork, any tips he provided on Sloan were documented as thorough
investigation by the detectives under John’s command.
Reyes’ had his own motivations for wanting to shut down Sloan’s operation,
despite the obvious. He thought it was despicable that she dealt in human
lives, selling off young girls, sometimes no older than 13, to the highest
bidder. The majority of them were shipped in from Russia, with hopes of finding
a better future in the States, only to find themselves forced into
prostitution, beaten into submission. Reyes suspected the body count was high,
Sloan wasn’t above having the girls killed if they displeased her. Many of her
workers were willing, with no prospects other than selling their bodies. Reyes
didn’t give a shit about that. But he was firm in the belief that everyone
deserved it to be their own choice.  
Despite his disdain towards her, and her complete lack of moral fiber (not that
he was much better), his motivations lied with eliminating competition. She
didn’t deal in guns or drugs primarily, but Queens was off limits to him and he
wanted it. It was the neighboring borough, after all.
“Our agents on the inside got a trickle down the lines that there are more
girls coming in from abroad soon. We don’t know if it’s anything solid yet,
mere rumors and speculations at this point. I need you to get us more to go
on,” John stood up at Reyes’ nod then crossed the room and left without a
goodbye. He was always terse and straight to the point in their meetings, a
quality Reyes appreciated. Small talk was a waste of breath.
Reyes sat and thought for a while. A short time later when the door to his
private room opened again, breaking his reverie, he already had a long list of
people to chat with later and a solid set of discreet questions.
A man likely in his mid-thirties, though haggard beyond his years, shambled in
and tossed a handful of crumpled bills at him. “Dice.” The notes smelled
vaguely of piss, but money was money. Reyes cracked his knuckles, crinkled his
nose, and got to work.
***** (NEW - 3/28/18) *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
September 27, 1984
Scott had been living with Reyes for over a month. He had a hard time wrapping
his head around the situation; 6 goddamned weeks! Since leaving Cuba four years
ago, Reyes had never once entertained the idea of being in a partnership of any
kind. Keema was as close as it came for him, and that’s because she was such a
free spirit, free with her affections, free with her body. She was even more of
a hedonist that he was. When they spent nights together, it was never out of
any sense of attachment. He supposed he did love her a bit, but not like that.
They were friends, period. Maybe the only person Reyes truly considered a
friend.
But then along came Scott. Bright eyed, poetic, certifiably crazy, and perfect.
Whenever he had doubts, or a twinge of fear at what the situation meant, Scott
would take his hands, look up at him with eyes like the water of Cayo Coco, and
Reyes would melt. He could physically feel the ebb and flow of the ocean tides
whenever their eyes met. He was adrift and swam desperately for the shore, then
their lips would connect, and his body would cling to that solid ground.
Earlier that morning, lost in the ocean trance, Reyes mused that Scott must be
some sort of Santero, casting healing spells upon him to sooth his soul. The
boy had an uncanny knack for knowing what he was thinking and spoke to his
unvoiced thoughts. “Ya tienes magia.” You already have magic.
At that, Reyes had promptly removed their clothes and took Scott right there,
up against the door of the loft. It was becoming a morning ritual for them.
They would be getting ready to leave for the day, Scott would say something
whimsical and odd, Reyes would get unreasonably hard, then demolish the boy
wherever they stood. 
Once they had themselves cleaned up, dressed and out the door, they headed
towards Tartarus an hour later than Reyes had intended. During that short walk,
Scott occasionally looked up at Reyes, a seductive glint in his eyes, and he
felt himself becoming stiff again. “Scott! serás mi muerte… Stop looking at me,
I’ve got shit I need to do!”
Scott laughed, bit his lip, then popped his hoodie string in his mouth, eyeing
Reyes sideways. Whenever Reyes looked over to him, Scott would avert his gaze,
a knowing smile on his face. Reyes groaned. He was never going to get anything
done. “Fucking succubus!”
As soon as they entered Tartarus, Reyes grabbed Scott by the wrist and pulled
him up the stairs with such force that the boy was practically being dragged,
stumbling and nearly falling several times. Reyes slammed the door to his
private room behind them and shoved Scott to the floor.
Scott hissed at the bruise that would likely form on his hip, “shit, ow,” then
looked up at Reyes from his spot on the cold cement, grinned and unzipped his
jeans.
Reyes was feeling intoxicated, frustrated, he had important things that needed
attending to, but he was being controlled by the tide. Monumentally fucked is
what he was. Reyes was not at all kind in his affections.
 ---
Mo Chao sat and waited at the bar. The man who had called himself “a friend”
had told her Santino was someone who could help her. He had connections, knew
the frailty of the city and how to take advantage. And maybe knew how to help
her escape. So, with shaking knees and a sick feeling in her stomach, Mo Chao
found herself waiting at the Tartarus bar at 4 in the afternoon instead of
working on a new mark for her boss. There was a mid-thirties Irish man behind
the bar with kindly eyes. He offered her a drink, but she shook her head and
instead ordered a glass of water and asked after Santino.
The man hissed, a startled look on his face. “Santino?”Then made a motion with
his hands to keep her voice down. “Top of the stairs, but he’s occupied right
now. It shouldn’t be long...”
Mo Chao’s head jerked up at the sound of screams coming from upstairs. There
was a thud, the sound of breaking glass, then the screams were muffled. The
kind man behind the bar paused with a look of trepidation on his face, then
succumbed to a cringe as he went back to wiping down the counter, shaking his
head. She desperately wanted to run but was frozen in place. This wasn’t going
to be any better than her current situation. She was probably about to walk up
to her death, leaving her daughter in a world of shit, at the mercy of her
boss’ foul goons. Her throat was so dry and her heart pounding so wildly, she
thought she might die before anyone got the chance to kill her. Before she had
a chance to get her daughter to safety.
But as the door to the room at the top of the stairs opened, she heard laughter
drifting through. It sounded like children playing in the rain, so at odds with
the violent melody that accosted her ears moments ago.
“lo siento, ángel,” A young man’s voice could be heard through the opening
door, a deep cooing sound.
“Get the fuck out!” Another man yelled through laughter, a rich Cuban accent
lilting the words.
A palely beautiful boy emerged, turned to look within one last time, then made
a very crude gesture that made Mo Chao’s cheeks redden. He slammed the door
shut quickly with a squeak as something solid thwacked against the metal. Still
smiling, the boy came down the stairs, checking himself as he walked, and
zipped his fly.
Their eyes met as he passed her, a shocking blue that read her soul. “Nǐ hǎo.”
He lifted his eyebrows for a second, then took a seat at the bar a few stools
down from her, close enough that she could study him, completely forgetting for
a moment why she had come. His lip was split and bleeding, and the skin under
his eye was a bright puffy red. Other red marks were forming around his neck.
The man behind the bar piped up as he sat, “Scott! Get that smile off your
face… You’re gonna have a nasty shiner. Has he taken his fists to you?!”
The boy, (Scott?) laughed and shook his head no. “Table’s fault.”
 “If you’ve broken up all my furniture, you’ll both get a wallop you won’t
forget.” The man grumbled as he procured a towel full of ice and gently pressed
it to the boy’s eye.
After a few minutes, Scott looked over at Mo Chao and she realized she had been
staring. Embarrassed, she almost looked away, a blush creeping into her face.
But as their eyes locked and his smile widened, Mo Chao’s fears vanished, and
she felt like she could take on the world. Stealing herself, she left the bar
and marched up the stairs to plead for Santino’s help.
 ---
It didn’t take long for the scratches down his back and torso to start stinging
in full force. It would be a painful day. Reyes groaned at a throbbing pain up
his elbow as he slowly started righting the flipped coffee table and lounge
chair. As he was finishing up his task, a shy knock came to his door. “Come
in!”
“Santino?”
Reyes spun around at the name, eyes wide. He was half expecting his sister to
walk through the door. The few people in this town that even knew his name,
knew better than to use it. But it wasn’t his sister, long abandoned back in
Havana.
The woman who walked through the door, gingerly closing it behind her and
taking hesitant steps forward, was one of the most striking creatures Reyes had
seen. Long, raven black hair brushed a perfectly ovaline face the color of
pale, whipped honey. A rosebud mouth pouted at him as large, light brown eyes
glittered, ogling at the sight of his bleeding, half naked form.
She averted her eyes, “I can come back.” She had a thick Chinese accent and a
soft voice that matched her face.  
“Shit. No, come in…” Reyes was so curious it almost made him itch. He brushed
off a shard of glass that clung to the chair and gestured for her to sit,
positioned across from the leather sofa where he regularly perched.
“Who told you to ask for Santino?” He kept his voice neutral, but there was a
dangerous glint in his eyes.
“I… don’t know. He didn’t give a name. He…” She swallowed and let out a shaky
breath.
“Start from the beginning. Who are you and why are you here? What did this man
tell you?”
“My name is Mo Chao. I’m here about Sloan.”
Chapter End Notes
     Whoa, Nelly. The plot thickens. Who the hell is Santino? And what's
     up with Mo Chao and her daughter? Tune in next time to find out.
     I think I should completely separate part two until part one is
     finished... But meh. Maybe I won't.
***** Part Two: Scott and the Lost Boys *****
Chapter Summary
     Sloan sends Reyes a message. Everything shatters apart.
Chapter Notes
     Content warning: *Please note that this is where everything starts to
     get incredibly dark. The following chapters are full of graphic
     violence and torture, rape and suicidal thoughts. And the downward
     spiral all starts with a hate crime. If you're not ok with everyone
     getting hurt, I advise you to stop here, and I hope you enjoyed the
     relatively carefree and bubbly Scott and Co. from the previous
     chapters.
     There's quite a bit more I'll be adding to part one, but I wanted to
     get posted what I've got written up so far. Over the next few weeks,
     I'll be inserting additional chapters on John, Gil, Sloan Kelly, and
     Umi. I have a lot outlined, but they aren't fully written yet. So
     here starts part two, a bit prematurely.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Part 2: Scott and the Lost Boys
 
You learn to ride the Earth when you're living on your belly -Kate Bush
 
July 15, 1985
 
Scott walked alone in thought. When Reyes had business to attend to, he
sometimes wandered off to take in the sights of New York, Walkman in his
pocket, getting lost in music. He usually found himself in Manhattan, taking
naps in the park and feeding the birds food he had pilfered from patios at
nearby restaurants. He frequently found himself checking pier 86. Suvi and
Kallo had gone south for the winter, promising they would return to see him
after the thaw, but alas, they had not yet returned. He hoped they would soon.
His birthday was two days ago, and he was still lost in his reminiscence. Keema
had given him the most wonderful gift. She had snuck one of his sketches from
the loft and had it silk screened onto a t-shirt. It was one of his many
drawings of Reyes, haloed in light by the morning star. Luci, the light-
bringer. Above the image in blocky, dripping letters read, “I love Luci”. It
looked like a proper punk rock band t-shirt, only those who knew the couple got
the meaning behind it. He cherished it and cherished Keema. She had also
brought him back a collection of British new wave tape cassettes from her last
trip to London that hadn’t hit America yet. Icing on the cake!
He walked along smiling, face lifted to catch the rays of warm July sun landing
on his face, Erasure playing in his ears. Thank you for this treasure, Keema.He
remembered almost everything from the last year so clearly, almost forgetting
what it was like to lose himself for more than a few hours. According to Reyes
and Keema, they were only aware of one other personality that occasionally took
over now, the young hero from the future out to save humanity from the Kett.
All said and done, he didn’t mind sharing his body with him, he seemed like a
pretty rad guy, even if he was a massive slut. If only the two Scotts could
share their memories with each other.
Scott looked up to the sky, the sun beginning to cast magnificent shades of
pink and orange through the clouds; it would be dark soon. He lingered,
dreaming up towards the heavens for a moment, then decided to start making his
way back to Brooklyn. He took in his surroundings, not a clue to where he
really was. But, if he knew New York, he knew that if he walked around a bit
longer, he would inevitably pass a subway station and be able to find himself
from there. With a smile and a light step, he continued moving, humming along
to his new music. "I try to discover... A little something to make me
sweeter..."
There looked to be a busier street off to his left a couple blocks down, so he
turned into the alley he was about to pass and took a shortcut to the next
street over. Midway down the alley, he felt pressure on the back of his skull,
felt ringing in his ears that drowned out the chipper music of Erasure, then
realized he was on his hands and knees. How’d I get down here? His headphones
fell from his ears, allowing him to take in sound from the street again. He
heard malicious laughter from a crowd of people behind him. His head hurt.
“Hey faggot, I’m talking to you”
He gingerly felt the back of his head. With a hiss he pulled his fingers away,
slick with blood. He felt confused, heard shouting all around him, but wasn’t
really hearing what the voices were saying. He was just starting to shake off
the cloud from his mind when a boot came crashing into his ribs, stealing
breath from his body, doubling him over. He struggled for a moment for sweet
breath, then gasped out a cry of pain. Another kick landed where the last one
had hit, this time knocking him over onto his side with a grunt.
He made out a few of the shouts as he laid there taking blows from a million
kicking feet, eyes unfocussed and trying to remain distant. Can I breathe? I
can breathe.He heard their screams like muted thunder, miles off in the
distance. Pretty as a girl… that’s him, alright… the boy-fucker Sloan told us
about… Tell Reyes to keep his whores out of Queens… I hear you like dick, I got
a big one for ya… send Reyes a message…wicked laughter.
He came out of his haze to being dragged to the side of the alley by his hair,
back scraping on the gravel, feet kicking, then tossed like a doll behind a
dumpster. He cried out as two of the thugs held his arms down while another
restrained one of his legs. A fourth set of hands started ripping at his
clothes, undoing his pants. There must have been at least six people
surrounding him, those not touching him laughing like demonic things. Panic
started rising in his chest, more suffocating than any of the blows to his ribs
had been. He screamed as hands tore at him, held him down, made him paralyzed.
Words came out of his mouth, but he didn’t recognize them. He thought it might
be ‘please don’t’ or ‘no’, but he was so filled with terror, he couldn’t be
sure.
He felt something rank and slimy being shoved into his mouth to stifle his
frantic cries. A discarded banana peel. When that proved not enough to silence
him, it was followed by an old rag that smelled of kerosene and tasted of
shame. Powerful hands held the items down in his mouth, crushing the base of
his skull to the ground. He couldn’t move his head to see what was happening
around him. He felt slicing pain cut into his ribs and struggled anew with the
sensation, trying to cry out. Then something was stabbing repeatedly, and he
felt a trickle of blood slide down his side. Tears falling, more slicing, as if
they were carving a message into his flesh, now across his arms and chest, his
shirt ripped in two. He screamed louder into the mouthful of detritus,
struggled to escape as fiercely as he could, but was ultimately subdued.
His pants were yanked down to his thighs and his free, struggling leg was
grabbed roughly and yanked up and over the side of someone’s shoulder, haunches
held firmly in place against a solid chest by brutish arms. And then without
mercy, the man, the beast, tore into him. A new wave of pain hit him, eyes
bulging, Scott threw up in his mouth but was forced to swallow it back down
around the putrid garbage already filling him. A vicious serious of rapid
thrusts began, he felt himself tearing, the pain leaving him unable to breath.
His muted screams and futile struggles picked up in intensity; it seemed to
last an aeon. He tried to focus on the pain in his wrist, a knee was crushing
it to the ground and he was certain at least one of the bones was broken by
now. And then a large, rusted nail was driven through his hand. It felt like
solace.  
Something burned his thigh, a cigarette put out on his flesh. He felt more
burning on his hip as the brutal, heaving monster inside him continued his
depravities, a lighter held up to exposed flesh. The smell of cooking meat
filled his nose. His wails would have curdled blood had he not been gagged.
Scott finally lost consciousness from the pain coming at him simultaneously
from all directions. A reprieve, alone in the void, no sensations, calm. Then
he was slapped back awake.  There’s our princess… don’t want you dead yet…
They only gave him a moment of respite to keep him conscious, to be sure he’d
feel all they had to dole out. The fetid refuse was no longer in his mouth, but
he was too weak to raise his voice louder than a soft cry, larynges abused to
the point of forced silence. The man inside him pulled away then he felt
something hot and sticky hitting his face in spurts, he feebly tried to turn
his head away, resigned to laying his cheek in a pool of semen and tears.
Someone else took the man’s place, someone bigger and more viscous. A strangled
breathy scream managed to escape his throat as he was flipped to his stomach
and the second sadistic snake slithered inside him, trying to mangle him to
pulp with the power of its manhood. Scott tried to focus on the beauty of
alliteration as his face was slammed to the concrete, blood escaping his nose
and mouth.
Scott lost track of the brutality done to his body from then out, except to
note when the two girls took a turn with him, and he realized he’d never known
true sadism until then. It felt like it went on for days, weeks, years. And
when the gang finally got bored of torturing him, well into the blackness of
evening, he was pulled upright to useless feet. They had to hold him in place
or he would surely fall back to the hard, welcome ground. His head was forced
back, and a rope was tied around his neck. He watched from a distance, in a
semi-conscious daze, as someone threw the end of it over the fire escape 8 feet
above them. Something was carved into his forehead. He didn’t care. “Luci, I’m
sor…”
He was hoisted up, feet barely kicking, useless hands scrabbling for the rope.
Torn jeans, soaked in blood, hung about his thighs.  A baseball bat thwacked
him across the midsection several times and a blade slid across the side of his
neck just below the rope, a final “fuck you,” then the thugs fled, whooping and
laughing into the night. Eternity passed as his kicking slowly subsided and
limp hands fell to his side, blood pooling below his dangling feet. His body
gently swung in the night breeze.
As he felt the welcome hand of death brush his face, he had a vision of the
dawn. Lucifer, the morning star, shined on him like the sun. Venus, the light-
bringer, rose above the horizon, it’s glowing warmth embraced him. The fire
escape above him shifted and the rope came loose. He fell to the ground and
welcomed the void. Breathe
At 1am, a homeless man stumbled by, watching the boy’s bleeding, mangled body
fall from its make-shift gallows as a group of hoodlums fled the far side of
the alley. He stole his Walkman and a 5-dollar bill from his pocket, then ran
off for help. 20 minutes later Scott was in the back of an ambulance, en route
to the New York-Presbyterian hospital in Queens. He died on the way there.
Chapter End Notes
     A side note: Scott either mentions or thinks about Lucifer a lot in
     this work. It's not meant to be Satanic, not at all, it's just the
     way he's able to wrap his head around things.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scott's in the hospital.
Chapter Notes
     There is mention of the injuries sustained from the torture Scott
     went through in medical context, but nothing explicitly graphic. Use
     of anti-gay vocabulary.
July 16, 1985
 
The world was a fog… unlikely he’ll regain consciousness… victim of a hate
crime… massive blood loss, slit wrists and throat… blood transfusions…
He heard disembodied voices…took a severe beating, internal bleeding and a
punctured lung… multiple surgeries… cerebral edema… May be permanent brain
damage…
Who was talking? The voices sounded like they were under water… sodomized, anal
trauma and rectal perforations… multiple 3rd degree burns and lacerations to
his upper body and genitals…
Hello? It’s best if you prepare to say goodbye…
Goodbye.
-----------
Keema was preparing herself for a fabulous luncheon with the Calvin Klein PR
team when her phone rang. They were going to go over details of an event they
would be co-hosting, a charity ball and silent auction for the make-a-wish
foundation, her sitting in as the proxy for Yves’ personal rep, as she often
did. Regardless of how frequently she was part of the big game, it still gave
her a thrill when her talents were put to use in this capacity. Keema sashayed
to the phone in her dressing room, her favorite summer dress swishing against
her calves, hand crafted specifically for her by Yves talented protégé,
Christian Lacroix, expecting the call to be some minor detail for the meeting
to come. “ye-es?” her accent making it a multisyllabic word, an unspoken
‘darling’ hanging at the end.
She stared in growing horror as the voice on the other end of the line spoke.
The blood leached from her face as she dropped the phone. Running to a small
garbage bin near her vanity, she promptly threw up everything she had ever
eaten. She slowly walked back to the phone and put the receiver back up to her
ear. “You still there? … Where is he, can I see him? …Yes, I’m family! … I’m on
my way.”
She screeched for the woman who came in to do the daily tidying, hoping to god
she hadn’t left yet. The woman, Greta, peaked her head around the corner in a
flurry. Keema left her with instructions to cancel all meetings and to get
Reyes to Queens Presbyterian ASAP. “My rolodex and planner are there!” she
pointed as she rushed out the door of her condo, ringing the bell for a driver
to meet her on her way out.
The drive from the upper east side to Auburndale took precisely three million
and five years. Humans died out and a new form of intelligent species evolved
by the time her chauffer pulled into the drop off zone of the hospital. She
called Reyes four times on the way and Tartarus twice, but he was nowhere to be
found. Hopefully that meant Greta got through to him and he was already there.
She was idly thankful on her insistence of putting the damned phone in the car.
It got horrible reception, as these mobiles were so new. It was hardly worth
it, but she was grateful for it now. Not that it did her any good, but she had
tried at the least and was able to leave a message.
As she threw open the door of the back seat and ran to the entrance, she
remembered the voice on the phone, A young man was brought in, no ID. This
number was in his pocket…
She tried to remember the name they had all agreed on should he ever be picked
up. Josh Anderson? No. Almost… Justin Parker! Her heart was racing as she
approached the information desk. “I was called about a John Doe, young man in
critical condition, came in last night! His name is Justin Parker, I’m his
sister-in-law… Please, where is he?!” The nurse gave her directions to critical
care and gave her a pass to enter the secured area, only family allowed.
She rushed down the hall before the pass was barely in her hands. As she
approached the doors, she tried to compose herself. Even distraught she still
knew she looked like a million dollars, but it wouldn’t do to become
hysterical, wouldn’t help Scott or Reyes. Feeling sick to her stomach, she
swallowed, then went in, searching for a doctor.
 ----------
There were two policemen taking a statement from one of the nurses as she
quietly entered. Keema approached cautiously, trying to overhear what they were
saying. “…were the words carved?” The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose and
sighed. “Die faggot. Queer… mostly superficial, linear cuts.” Keema lost part
of the words as a voice buzzed over the intercom. She paid it no mind as she
moved closer, wanting to hear. “… injuries required emergency surgery…
Punctured lung, internal abdominal bleeding, brain swelling, rectal and colon
perforations with sepsis… multiple stab wounds…” “… Throat was cut?” “Yes,
missed his jugular by 2 centimeters, lucky he didn’t bleed out...”
”We’ll need to take photographic evidence as soon as he’s been stabilized,” one
of the cops was saying as Keema finally joined them.
“I… know him. His name is Justin Parker… I came as soon as I got the call. Will
he be all right?” She had tears in her eyes.
The cop flipped through his notebook. “You are… Keema?” She nodded. “Last name
and date of birth.”
Fucker!“I’ll answer your questions once I know what happened! Where is he? Can
I see him?”
The nurse put a hand on her shoulder, “He’s still in surgery, he took a severe
beating and there was a lot of damage…”
“How long until I can see him?” She cut the nurse off.
“It will be some time yet before we know if his surgery was successful. I’ll
send the doctor to speak with you as soon as they’re finished.” Keema was
directed to a waiting area around the corner from the nurse’s station. The cops
followed her to take a statement.
She zoned out during their questioning and couldn’t recall the exact answers
she gave them, but knew she stuck to the story they had crafted in the case
anything should ever happen. Justin Parker, age 20, orphaned, her and Reyes
took him in a year ago. Mostly the truth, but Scott wasn’t someone they were
willing to lose to the system should his real name or date of birth set up red
flags anywhere. They gave her a card and told her they would call her if any of
the culprits were apprehended, should Scott be awake and fit enough to identify
them. She took a mental note to speak with them later about details of the
crime scene.
When the cops finally left, Keema sat in the waiting area. And sat and waited…
***** Chapter 11 *****
Reyes had been making a few house calls that afternoon, as he occasionally did
for long term, regular customers. It was a lucrative day so far and he felt
good, though he was slightly worried after Scott. On the rare occasion he’d
disappear for a day or two, but when he returned he always had some sort of
treasure in hand. He once came home with a diamond and sapphire necklace for
Keema, god only knows where he procured that. Reyes suspected there was a
master thief lurking in Scott’s head somewhere, and the thought of what grand
heist he was involved in right now made him smile. Maybe this time there would
be a Van Gogh gracing their living room walls, to be hung next to the Vermeer
that suddenly appeared several months ago. Reyes had read in the paper the
following morning that it had been stolen from a private collector, but there
was no insight into the identity of the burglar. When he asked Scott about it,
he just smiled and sang, “I’ll never tell…”
It was 5pm when he finally made his way back to Tartarus, laughing at his
thoughts. As soon as he entered, Kian waved him over. “Keema’s been trying to
get ahold of you all day! Scott’s been hurt.” Shit.The smile left his face.
Kian gave him the location and he left without a second thought. He hailed down
a cab and headed to Auburndale, Queens. It wasn’t far from Bushwick, in any
other city it would have been a twenty-minute drive, but this was New York rush
hour. It wasn’t until 7pm that he arrived at his destination.
 ---
Reyes cracked the door to Scott’s recovery room, held his breath, then entered.
His heart sank. Scott was hooked up to a thousand machines, a large tube down
his throat, other tubes hooked up to anchors near his collarbone. More tubes
running to IV’s in both arms.  Bandages covered his head from his eyebrows up,
more bandages covering his neck and arms. Any exposed skin was covered in
wicked bruises, a disturbing polychromatic display. The bed linens were pulled
up to cover Scott to his chest, arms resting outside the blankets. But based on
the angles jutting beneath, Reyes suspected the lower portion of his body was
just as mangled and wrapped. The left side of Scott’s face was so purple and
swollen, he barely recognized his young paramour.
Keema was there, holding Scott’s hand, her face red and puffy from long hours
of crying. Her cheeks were dry now, but she looked exhausted as she gazed up at
him. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes when she saw him. Reyes was about to ask
what happened when her arms were suddenly around him, squeezing the air from
his lungs. He hugged her back, minutes passing, unable to take his eyes from
Scott’s mutilated frame. Eventually he spoke, “what happened to him?” His voice
cracked.
Keema filled him in, or tried to. “They’re saying it was a hate crime... He
was… they r-r-r… he…” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the details of his
assault out loud, and after some stuttering, gave up and broke down into tears,
letting Reyes hold and comfort her. “They said he might not wake up,” she
wailed. “We should be prepared to say goodbye. H-h-he keeps having seizures and
flatlining…”
Reyes held on to her for a time, then instructed her to go find some food. He
wanted to sit alone with Scott. No doctor had been in since he arrived, so he
still had no idea what happened, though he got the jist of it by Keema’s
inability to say. He settled for looking at the chart kept at the foot of
Scott’s bed. He grabbed it and sat it the chair Keema just vacated.
Reyes felt surprisingly numb as he started to read. His face darkening as he
continued down the long list of injuries. Scott was on dialysis until renal
function was restored, and would be shitting into a colostomy bag until the
trauma to his colon and rectum was healed. Treated for sepsis. He was breathing
through a ventilator, the damage to his lung was severe, though the bone shard
was successfully removed. Transplant deemed unnecessary, pro tem.  Trepanation
to relieve cerebral edema, possible long-term effects, coma, brain damage,
seizures, loss of motor function. fractured orbital socket, fractured ilium and
pelvis, fractured carpals, surgery pending. Multiple instances of cardiac
arrest, resuscitation required.
There was more, but Reyes couldn’t continue. He lowered the railing on the bed
so he could lean over and rest his head next to Scott’s and stayed like that,
heart hallow and eyes unblinking, until the medical staff came in to check on
him.
 ---
“No seizing in over five hours, that’s a good sign. It means the swelling in
his brain has gone down and we can be more optimistic that he’ll eventually
regain consciousness. We can determine at that time if there is any permanent
brain damage, but it’s safe to remain hopeful in the meantime.”
Reyes let out a breath. “Por favor. Despierta…” He whispered. “How long do you
think it will take?”
“I’m sorry, we really can’t give you an estimate on that. We’ve done all we can
to stabilize him, now it’s up to Justin.”
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Summary
     Reyes and Keema find solace
Chapter Notes
     This is a super short chapter, but I think it was needed to get a
     sense of where peoples heads are at.
 
July 30, 1985
 
Reyes had spent several days at the hospital with Scott, but at the insistence
of Keema, they set up a rotation of people to sit in his room with him while he
slept so Reyes could tend to himself. Umi, of all people, had volunteered her
day off to stay with him. She pretended to hate him, but like everyone else,
she loved the shit out of Scott. He called her his unicorn. Reyes was on the
phone with her, checking in for signs of improvement.
Keema was with him at the loft he shared with Scott, making him dinner while he
fretted. It was driving him nuts not being there, but he agreed it would do no
one any good if he didn’t eat, sleep, and shower on occasion.
“He’s still not awake.” Reyes looked lost. He hung up the receiver.
Keema stopped chopping her vegetables to stroke a hand through his wavy brown
hair. “shhhh.” She pulled him into a hug. “He will. Soon. We’ll have our boy
back and the world will be right again.”
He wasn’t sure how it happened, but both himself and Keema needed solace,
closeness, release. They found themselves intertwine on Reyes’ bed, clothing
strewn to the floor, tangled in carnal embrace.
It had been a year since he last had sex with Keema, both the familiarity and
alien-ness of it made for a disquieting juxtaposition. He moved inside her with
urgency, necessity, and desperation. And when he finally came, he rolled to his
back and away from her, shoving her aside, not caring if she arrived at the
same finale.
He grabbed a pillow, covered his face, and screamed. uncontrollably,
inconsolable.
He felt alone, abandoned, desolate.
He screamed and wept until exhaustion took him, a funereal wail that woke the
dead and promised apocalypse upon the world, a flood of tears that threatened
so submerge the whole of the land. Keema was wrong, nothing would be right
again.
 -----
Silent as a ghost, Keema donned her shift, then slipped unheard from the
bedroom, closing the door behind her. Before she made it three steps, she slid
her back down the wall and sat on the floor, head in hands, listening to Reyes
scream himself to sleep. She was so depressed, she considered taking her own
life.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scott wakes up and goes home.
August 12, 1985
 
Reyes got the call that Scott was awake. He dropped everything and headed for
Queens. He thought he may have forgotten to lock the door, but it didn't
matter.
When he arrived at the hospital, there were police questioning Scott. "Truly I
was born to be an example of misfortune, and a target at which the arrows of
adversary are aimed." Reyes overheard Scott quoting Cervantes as he walked into
the room. He had been reading Don Quixote to the sleeping boy on the nights he
stayed with him over the last two weeks. Apparently people in coma's did hear
what you said.
Scott's eyes lit up as Reyes entered. The bandages were removed from his head,
the holes in his skull from trepanning patched up, though the side of his head
was now shaved. An ugly jagged scar was forming on his forehead where an uglier
word had been carved, 'FAG'. Reyes felt sick, but Scott's eyes were hopeful,
expectant, so he quickly walked over and took the chair next to his bed, then
leaned over to kiss him gently, not wanting to hurt him.
"Sorry to interrupt," he told the cops, "Please, continue."
"Was there anything else you remember? Anything any of them said?"
Scott looked inward for a moment, shaking his head, "It's all fuzzy still. The
words, I mean... I remember... Sloan? Someone mentioned Sloan."
Reyes darkened, but kept his mouth shut. This was not a matter to involve the
cops in. He tuned out the rest of the conversation, secretly plotting his
revenge. A bullet to the head? No, too quick. She'd have to be killed slowly. 
A hand resting on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Sir?" 
"Sorry, what?"
"Justin will be staying with you, correct?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Here's my card, please contact us if he remembers anything else."
The cops left.
Scott grinned over at him. "I think I like my new haircut, I'll have Keema do
something cool with it. I'll be like one of those guys from the music
videos!" MTV junkie. Reyes rolled his eyes.
 
Scott spent the next two weeks in the rehab ward getting daily physical
therapy. He seemed to be healing quickly and bouncing back to health in short
order. His stoma was scheduled to be closed in another week, something that
thrilled Scott to no end, "No more shitting into a bag!" Dialysis would need to
continue for an hour every day until further notice, but Keema was in the
process of renting a machine to keep at home so Scott wouldn't have to come
back for each session.
The medical staff informed Reyes that Scott was likely suffering a form of
PTSD, having mood swings and complete shifts in personality. He had expected as
much and assured them it wouldn't be a problem to have him at home. 
August 26th, Scott was released from the hospital and sent home with Reyes, a
full prescription for antibiotics, and a slew of barbiturates and pain
killers. 
The young lovers were optimistic at first, but optimism is callow. Something
they would learn in short order. 
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scott and Reyes do not have a healthy relationship.
Chapter Notes
     Another bit of sick and twisted here. Non/con, violence, abuse and
     seriously dysfunctional love. Be warned.
October 30, 1985
 
It had been exactly three months. Reyes was having vivid nightmares, every sick
and twisted detail he had learned of the attack was warped into something even
more appalling and sinister while he slept. He knew Scott was having
nightmares, as well. They had too many sleepless nights, both afraid to close
their eyes lest the horrific beasts return to take their minds.
Scott had been slipping back into a state of alternate reality almost
constantly, shifting to a different person upwards of twenty times in any given
day. The boy he had grown so fond of over the last year was rarely present,
sometimes replaced by a quivering shell of a human, sometimes replaced by a
being of unspeakable rage and violence. Most all the personalities Scott took
on were either scared or angry, and more often than not acted like they barely
knew Reyes.
It was weighing on him greatly. The last thing he wanted to do was abandon him
or send him away, but Reyes’ presence wasn’t seeming to help. Keema often had a
soothing effect on him, and she had agreed that Scott might do well at hers for
a few weeks. She sweet talked her next-door neighbor, Dr. Nakamoto, into
staying on-call with him when she had important meetings to attend.
Reyes had been waiting two days for Scott to become lucid enough to talk to
about it. He didn’t want him waking up at Keema’s, not knowing why he wasn’t
staying at home, it felt cruel. So, he waited.
Scott was curled up at the end of the small sofa they shared, sketching away
happily, humming a nondescript tune to himself. His legs were lazily draped
across Reyes, blue eyes occasionally darting up to look at him. Reyes suspected
he was drawing another picture of him, and he was always amazed at how
realistic they were.
“How are you today? Hips feeling any better?” Scott was scheduled to have the
pins that helped hold his broken bones in place while they mended removed in
three weeks. He still used crutches when he left the loft but was becoming
pretty mobile again.
“I still ache, but it’s mostly better. Luci, I miss dancing. That stupid bag is
gone now, doc said we can dance again soon. We will, right? Dance soon?” Scott
set his sketch book down on the floor, and grimacing from the action, skootched
his body in close to Reyes, resting his head in the crook of his shoulder.
“We’ll dance soon. I promise…” It was now or never, it might be another few
days or even weeks before he got the opportunity to talk to him again.
“Keema said she wanted to have you over for a while.”
Scott bubbled, “Are we having a party?”
Reyes smiled sadly and kissed the top of his head, “hopefully many!... We
thought… she said you could move in, live there. For a while.”
Scott moved his head back and looked at Reyes. His brow furrowed, eyes
glittering. “For a while. Please do be specific,” his tone was both hurt and
angry. Scott squeezed his hand on Reyes’ arm, fingernails digging into his
skin, making him grunt. But he made no move to remove the grip.
Reyes sighed and broke his eyes away, “Your body might be healing, but your
head isn’t. I think being around me has made you worse. And I think… I must
take a step back. I can’t… I just can’t. You should go. At least until we can
find what’s going to best help you.”
Scott stood up gingerly, clearly in pain, and started pacing with a limp. “So,
you’re kicking me out? I’m with you, Luci, since time began, until the world
ends! I need you… How is leaving going to help?” Cerulean pools shone with
diamonds as his eyes welled up.
 “It’s for both of us! I’m forced to sit by and watch while monsters take over
your body and try to destroy everything! I don’t think you can understand how
hard this has been on me.” Reyes stood up and walked over to where Scott was
pacing, putting his hands on his shoulders to stop his motion.
Scott pushed him off. “Hard on you?! I was tortured and mutilated! I only have
one fucking testicle now!” Scott pushed him again, yelling louder. “I was held
down and fucked up the ass with a broken off table leg! Hard on you?! I
remember everything!” The last came out as a scream. Scott gave Reyes a full
armed slap.
Reyes’ ears rang with the blow and something in him snapped. Before he could
stop himself, he had Scott slammed against the wall, fore arm pinning the boy
in place, putting pressure on his throat, his other hand covered Scott’s mouth,
keeping his head firmly locked to the wall. Reyes growled, a sound meant for
himself, at how sick he was with himself right now, but it came out feral and
threatening.
Scott was frozen, eyes as wide as saucers, filled with panic; a deer in the
headlights. He was whimpering beneath Reyes’ vice like grip over his mouth,
breathing heavily and unevenly through his nose. Scott’s entire body trembled
in terror.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck!!!” Reyes screamed the word at the top of his lungs. Scott
flinched at the sound, he seemed to be preparing for a blow.
Reyes let go of the boy and gently ran his fingers across his brow, gingerly
touching the pink welted scar across his forehead. ‘FAG’. Scott flinched again
at the touch, frightened tears falling from his eyes, lip quivering. Reyes
sighed and turned away, leaving the shaking boy be. He walked to the phone in
the kitchen to call Keema, sliding a resigned hand through his hair. She had
said she would send a driver to pick Scott up whenever he was ready. He heard
Scott shuffle off to the bedroom and close the door softly behind himself.
Hello?“Hi, Keema… I talked to him. Sort of…” How did he take it?“Not well, it
was a shitshow. I think I just did more damage…” It’ll take time, darling. For
both of you. How are you holding up?“I’m fine… no, I’m not fine. Scott’s not
fine. I miss him, and I ruined the only lucid moment I’ve had with him in
days.”
He heard Keema sigh over the other line. I’ll send a car over in two hours.
That should give you enough time to make things right. He’ll understand,
Reyes.They said their goodbyes, then Reyes hung up the receiver. He plopped
down on the stool next to the island and planted his head in his hands while he
thought. Shit, shit, shit… I can’t do this.
After a few minutes of self-loathing, he heard a loud bang and rattling from
other room, like a drawer being slammed shut. He lifted his head, then wearily
made his way to the bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to prepare Scott’s
Nembutal in case he had “shifted” into someone needing chemical restraint
again. He capped the syringe, then pocketed it, not wanting to frighten Scott
if it was still him in there.
 He cracked the door and poked his head inside, “Scott? You ok?”
Reyes felt the blow to his head before he even laid eyes on Scott. Stars swam
in his eyes as he tried to get his bearings, but within a moment, powerful arms
had him restrained, his own arms yanked behind him and cuffed in the small of
his back. He heard the metal clicking shut as his head started to clear. They
were too tight and would surely leave wicked bruises.
He tried turning, but Scott was suddenly there in front of him and he was being
slammed down onto his back, the bed bouncing underneath him as he landed. As
his body came down on his cuffed wrists, he cried out and tried shifting his
weight. But then Scott was jumping up onto the bad, straddling his waist so he
couldn’t move. The extra weight sent a shock of pain up his wrist to his elbow.
So much for the Nembutal.
“Shit! Scott, what the fuck are you doing! Let me…” His words trailed off.
Scott pulled a gun out of the back of his jeans and had it pointed at Reyes’
face. Colt Python long barrel, .357 magnum, Reyes recognized the weapon. He had
no idea where the boy had gotten it, as he had stopped keeping firearms of any
kind at the loft. Not since Scott started becoming violent.
Scott brushed Reyes’ lips with the end of the barrel. His eyes were glossy, had
a feverish light behind them, mouth curled in a sneer. “Tell me you’re mine…”
“Scott…”
“wrong answer.” He cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger. Click. An empty
chamber.
Reyes flinched back. “Shit!! Not like this!”
“Like this?” Scott quickly cocked the hammer and put the gun up to his own
head. Trigger squeezed, click. Another empty chamber. He started laughing. It
was the most menacing sound Reyes had ever heard. He suspected that there were
no bullets in any of the chambers, but he wasn’t willing to bet his life or
Scott’s to call the bluff.
“Stop! Scott, stop!” Reyes struggled against his restraints and the weight of
Scott on his chest, but he couldn’t get out of his position. The Colt was back
in his face, he froze in place.
“Tell me you’re mine…” Hammer cocked.
Reyes was in a panic. Please, let there be no bullets!“God! Yes! I’m yours,
always.” Scott leaned over to kiss him. He could feel the gun firmly pressed
against his temple. Reyes kissed him back as passionately as he could muster.
“I love you,” he breathed, “and I can show you how much I love you... just put
the gun away” Scott sat back up with that and whipped Reyes across the mouth
with the revolver, splitting his lip open. He thought a tooth might have been
knocked loose.
Scott growled, “You’re fucking pathetic. You’re nothing without me.” He leaned
back down and put his face close to Reyes’. “You don’t love me.” He kissed the
blood from Reyes’ mouth with a snaky tongue then hissed, voice dripping with
venom, “The only thing you love is when you can slide your hard cock into my
tight ass.” Scott bit Reyes’ bottom lip, then gave a mockingly playful suck.
“And make me scream like a girl.” He kissed him again, rough and angry. “It’s
your turn.”
Scott sat upright again and shifted his body down to undo the fly of Reyes’
pants. Reyes tried using the opportunity to wiggle out of his grip, but a
wickedly powerful hand grabbed his throat and slammed his head back down. The
gun pointed at his face, finger squeezing trigger, click. Empty chamber.
Reyes convulsed. “Scott! Put the gun down, stop! Anything you want, just stop
this!”
Scott laughed. “Anything I want?” Scott sat back, lifted himself to his knees
and removed Reyes’ belt. “Roll over.” Gun pointed, hammer cocked.
“Shit, shit, shit! Ok, ok” It took some struggling to roll over with his arms
stuck to the small of his back and the limited space Scott had given him to
maneuver. As soon as he was face down, Scott viciously ripped his pants down to
his hips, tearing the fabric of the dark blue denim.  Reyes gritted his teeth
as he buried his face into the mattress. “Shit!”
His head was ripped back by his hair and the belt was suddenly tight around his
throat, he could feel Scott wrapping a hand around the ends with a firm grip,
his neck craned awkwardly back from the motion. Then he felt cold wetness on
his ass and Scotts free hand roughly working at his entrance, his muscles
involuntarily constricted in attempt to keep the intruding digits out.
Scott laughed as he forced his fingers in. Reyes cried out, his voice awkward
around the belt forcing his head back. “Please! Scott! Slow down!” He coughed.
“I love you, I know you love me, but you’re hurting me!” More coughing and
gasping around the belt.
The part of him that was still Scott must have been listening, because he
started working slow and methodical, easing up on the belt so Reyes could rest
his head back down with a grateful sob. But as soon as Scott’s shaft was firmly
embedded within him as far as it could reach, the belt was pulled taught again,
craning Reyes’ neck as far as it could go without breaking, forcing his spine
to painfully arch back.
Scott snarled as he started in on him. He was a brutal machine, pounding down
on him with the force of an avalanche. Reyes’ choked out a strangled scream
around his constraints, the thought his spine might snap and he’d rip in two
simultaneously. “S-s-stop!!” The pounding lasted for only a few more minutes,
stopping shortly after the belt tugged ferociously tight and his air was cut
off completely. A few more brutal thrusts and it was over.
Once he was spent, Scott released the belt and let a gasping Reyes put his head
back to the cool sheets. Scott grabbed him by the hair again, forcing his neck
sideways, then leaned over and kissed him briefly. Then the barrel of the gun
was caressing his lips again, slowly entering his mouth. “Guess what?” The gun
left his mouth. Scott pressed it firmly into a pillow next to Reyes’ face then
emptied the last three chambers. BANG BANG BANG. Loaded. Scott laughed
hysterically, like someone had told the funniest joke in the world. The pillow
smoked, Reyes turned his face to the mattress and cried silently, too afraid to
make a sound.
Reyes had been certain that that was the day he was going to die. The monster
in his bed wasn’t Scott, he wasn’t sure if Scott actually made it out of that
alley alive. But he was wrong, he didn’t die. Neither did Scott. Not for
another seven years. Seven more years of love, hate, abuse, and a murder
rampage that would set the nation on fire.
Scott whispered in his ear before he left, “I’d never kill you. I love you,
too.” He licked his hand and left a stinging slap on Reyes’ bare ass that made
him flinch, then walked out the door as he zipped his jeans. Reyes moaned
through a short laugh, a mirthless huff of breath leaving his chest. Ironic,
really. That was the first time either of them had ever spoken those three
words out loud. It was official. They were in love.
It was an hour later that Keema let herself in and found Reyes half laughing,
half crying into bullet riddled sheets, his hands still cuffed behind his back
and pants sitting just below his ass. Scott was nowhere to be found.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scott gets a little revenge. Sara visits!
Chapter Notes
     Descriptions of implied torture. More than one murder takes place in
     this chapter.
November 12, 1985
 
Scott had been stalking the girl for almost two weeks. He remembered every
detail of what she did to him, or rather, what she did to his dimwitted,
lovesick alter-ego he felt compelled to protect. Even though it wasn’t him, his
body still ached for the abuse all the same.
She had ripped two of his fingernails off with a rusted metal… implement, he
wasn’t sure what its original purpose had been. It didn’t matter, he brought a
pliers. She had held a lighter to his groin, until the skin split and turned
black. It was still tender when he got hard, even though the skin graft had
healed. He brought a proper torch lighter. She had shoved a screw driver up his
ass, causing tears to his rectum. He brought a mother fucking power drill.
The list of injuries went on, as did the list of tools in his duffle bag,
stowed in a storage room close by.
He knew the way she walked home each night, too cocky and sure of her powers as
a societal menace to fear harm to her own being. She walked like a real piece
of shit, the kind that thinks they’re untouchable. He knew she would take a
right at the next street, then slip down the alley to her left. He had prepared
everything earlier in the day.
He ignored the twinge in his hip as he hurried after her. She took her right
turn. Predictable. He was a shadow, like a silent ninja warrior out for
vengeance. He wanted to smell the iron piquancy of her spilling blood. He
quickened his step, so close behind her now.
She turned into the alley, walked a dozen steps, then he was on her. A syringe
of Nembutal going directly into her neck. It wasn’t a strong enough dose to
completely knock her out, but it made her dizzy and easy to manage. He wanted
her awake for the whole ordeal. He wrapped a gloved hand around her face,
clamping down over her mouth, then dragged her through the door directly behind
them. He had made sure it was unlocked and ajar less than an hour ago.
He slammed the door shut behind them, locked the bolt, then flicked the switch
to light a room straight out of a 1970’s French snuff-exploitation film. Let
the gore commence. Scott smiled as he threw the evil wench to the ground.
 
 ---
 
Sara blinked her eyes. It felt like months, maybe years, since she was fully
awake. She stretched with delight in her freshly awoken body, one leg lifted
off the ground, knee bent ‘til her toes almost brushed her perfect ass, arms
akimbo, up on the toes of her other foot. She arched her back with a sigh, then
cringed at the sudden pain in her ribs and hips and nearly toppled from her
graceful pose. OK, no deep breaths for a tick. And probably no yoga. Fuck!
Sara didn’t have any direct memories of what happened while she was asleep, but
had meticulously set up a filing system on her computer of a brain. She sat
down in proper Buddha pose and closed her eyes. She opened the drawer and
rifled through the files until she came across the one labeled “recent events”.
The file was 8 bajillion pages long. Fuck that. She scanned again and found
“Recent Events: massively abridged”. Perfect!
Despite being giddy at her recent awakening, her mood darkened as she read.
Well, darkened just a smidge. Errrr, annoyed mostly. OK, only for a second. And
only because the body she had to share wasn’t up to her usual standards.
Whatever shit the Scotts got themselves into wasn’t any big fuckin’ deal to
her. She kept reading. Fucker fucking fuck-heads! Scars. Literally. Everywhere!
She was desperate to get to a mirror. This was likely a make-up emergency.
She gritted her teeth and let out an exasperated sigh. She put the files away
and opened her eyes, taking in the scene of gore and horror before her. She
laughed, it sounded like clear jingling bells on a warm spring day. Oh, Scott,
you done it again. She high fived herself and knew her brother would remember.
Sara untangled her legs from the Buddha pose, then stood up. Slowly. Her
fucking hip joint was locking up.
Sara walked over to the girl before her and studied the remains. She was tied
to a Judas cross (that’s a big friggin ‘X’ kids, not a little ‘t’), nails
driven through her hands, most of her fingernails removed. She crinkled her
nose in mock disgust. There was a hole carved out between her legs, where
vaginal canal and anus once belonged. There, large and small intestines spilled
to the ground. Some of the viscera was wrapped around her neck like a noose.
Other bits that had spilled to the floor were obviously stomped upon… She
looked at her shoes and giggled at the gore stuck to them. Ugh, I hate waking
up dressed like a boy, anyway. Shopping time.
She spotted some clothes strewn to the side and started rifling through them.
House keys. Who cares. Tossed to the side. ID, Margot Fischer. “OH, I’m
Maaargot! Ha!” Sara rolled her eyes. Tossed to the side. Bingo baby! Cold, hard
wad of cash in a money clip. MINE!
Sara left the storage room, a skip in her step (a skip that made her grimace
from the twinge in her hip. Fuckers!), then headed out into the cool autumn
evening.
She didn’t go far before she found a little unisex, gothy-type boutique that
was still open. It was only 7pm, so she’d have plenty of time to browse. She
grabbed a handful of random black garments then headed to the dressing room.
She emptied out the contents of her pockets, then changed into something more
suitable to her standards. Fishnets are way more awesome than jeans! She high
fived her reflection in the mirror, seriously digging the Siouxie and the
Banshees shirt she found. It hung off one shoulder and was killer with the kilt
style mini skirt she donned. “Bitch, you are fuckable!”
She picked up the random detritus that Scott had stowed in his pockets, tossing
most of it back in without looking. She found a switchblade. Wicked! And
pocketed that immediately.
Sara walked back out onto the floor, dug around and found a seriously rad
leather jacket and threw it on over her ensemble. Then walked over to the boots
and found a pair of mid-calf Doc Martins that fit perfect. Sweet! This night
just keeps getting better and better. Finally, she had to do something about
this dreadful face. Like, who the hell walks around with ‘FAG’ scarred into
their forehead without applying concealer?! As if.
A few minutes later, the annoying clerk was nattering at her to pay before she
used the make-up they had stocked around the counter. Sara threw the money clip
at her. “Shut the fuck up, I’m about to be gorgeous.” Fifteen minutes later her
face was perfect. Smoky cat eyes and pouty red lips, scars invisible. She
learned how to be quick about these things. After all, she was sharing her body
with a bunch of guys who always liked to intrude when she was gussying up.
Finally satisfied with her looks, she pocketed the make-up and realized the
clerk was still jibber-jabbering at her… la la la, this isn’t enough money. La
la la, you still owe me $75 for the boots, La la la… Sara took out the switch
blade and stabbed her in the throat. One swift, action hero motion. She died
gurgling. “I told you to shut the fuck up.” Sara scooped the money clip back
up, reached across the counter to the register, hit the ‘no sale’ button and
spirited away all the cash in the till. She was so pleased with herself that
she didn’t notice the fresh blood spatter across her awesome new clothes and
perfect face.
“Now, where the fuck do I find a razor to shave my legs…” At least Scott had
shaved his face recently. Ugh, waking up with scruff was the WORST!
She pissed off into the night, searching her filing cabinet brain for an
address.
Tartarus sounded intriguing. She definitely had a thing for Latin men.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Summary
     Reyes meets Sara
Chapter Notes
     A bit of sexual content, nothing super graphic. Some drug use, as
     well.
The last two weeks were hell for Reyes. He wasn’t one to often dabble with his
own products, but he had taken the habit of keeping himself on the cocaine
regularly. He was too despondent otherwise, the bumps kept him in a state of
mental numbness, sometimes cheerfulness even crept out. But as soon as he’d
wake up the following afternoon, he’d be so depressed he wasn’t sure if he
wanted to live.
Since Scott had shown up that random Tuesday a year ago, Reyes had stopped
taking customers who couldn’t pay him in cash, he was too besotted to get off
on it. But after the incident two weeks ago, Reyes had become indifferent,
didn’t care if what he did in his work hours hurt Scott. He kind of wanted to.
So, he started letting people pay in favors again, essentially whoring
themselves out for a fix. It wasn’t as lucrative, but it helped keep his mind
off things. And made him feel like he was getting a bit of payback for all the
shit he’d been put through the last few months.
Then he’d wake up the next day and feel like such a piece of garbage. He hated
himself and he hated Scott. He hated all the desperate people who came looking
to suck him off. Then he’d do a fat line and the world seemed a lot less bleak,
he could get back to business.
 After a few days and still no signs of Scott, Reyes was sure he was dead. He
had mixed feeling on that. Part of him screamed “Good Riddance!”, but mostly he
was beside himself with grief. He just didn’t give a shit about anything right
now. So, when Scott finally walked through the door, or more sashayed the way
Keema often did, Reyes wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump up in elation or throw
himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
“So! This is Tartarus!” He (she?) knocked the door behind them with a graceful
swish of a hip and strolled over to sit beside Reyes. “I hear you’ve been
fucking my brother.”
Reyes put his head in his hands and sighed. Not Scott, then. “I suppose I have
been.” He looked up into familiar blue eyes, heavily lined with perfect black
smoke. Somehow the makeup made the cerulean seem to turn into shades of
lavender at random places, hypnotizing to gaze into. “I…” He cleared his
throat, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he offered his hand.
“Sara.” She took his hand and put his fingertips up to her lips, then teasingly
bit the ends, one at a time. “I came by to see what kind of man you are…” She
winked, then laughed at his confused expression. It sounded like the tinkling
of spring rain. She then leaned over the table and helped herself to a line of
coke he had set up for himself. “Ahhh, that’s what the doctor ordered…”
Reyes just watched, didn’t know what to say. Didn’t feel like he had the right
to demand where Scott had been, he hadn’t bothered looking for him after all.
And now the person in front of him wasn’t his boy, not even a boy at all, he
supposed. So, we watched. Watched the way her lips moved when she spoke,
painted in a matte blood red. The color brought out the fullness tenfold. And
watched slender fingertips, perfectly polished black nails, stroke her swanlike
neck. Every motion she made was graceful and seductive. Not at all like Scott,
who was often awkward and hesitant.
Lips still moving, she rolled off the leather sofa like a dancer, then crawled
onto his lap, straddling him. “Are you listening to me?” she purred into his
ear. His breath caught, Scott’s soft voice, he could almost pretend.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said,I hand embroidered the corpse of the last person to ignore me when I
spoke.” A switch blade came out, pressed against his throat. “You gonna listen,
or do I need to teach you a lesson?” Her lips were so close to his he could
taste her breath. Sweet and perfect, just like Scott’s. He decided he didn’t
care who was behind the wheel, they were in his lover’s body, and he missed
that body as much as he missed the chipper boy that, once upon a time, came
with it.
“You have my undivided attention” His arms circled her waist and drew her body
closer, ignoring the blade, wet and sticky, at his throat. When their lips met,
his body filled with heat, a soft, salty tongue brushing his. He realized he
really could pretend this was Scott, both apologizing and forgiving him, an
almost perfect make up. Fuck the pain away.
He slid his hands inside her pleated skirt and tore a hole into fishnet
stockings, then ripped her underpants. She laughed, more spring rain, bells in
the breeze. The blade dug harder into his flesh and he felt a warm trickle of
blood run down his neck. She kissed him harder, bit his lip, then the blade
left his throat, Sara’s mouth moving to his neck, and she gave a kiss he knew
would leave a mark for days.
In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, her head hanging off the
edge of the sofa, as she laughed again. Her lipstick smeared across perfect
white skin somehow made her all the more appealing. He paused only long enough
to undo his fly and pull himself out, then he was on top of her, hips grinding
together, feelings of loss urging him to reclaim this creature.
She brought a hand to her mouth, slicked fingers with saliva, then moved it
downward, in between them. After a moment of movement, her head still slung
back, moaning, she guided him inside her.
For the next two hours, Reyes fucked her like his life depended on it, and
truth be told, he wasn’t sure it didn’t.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     A super short one. The song mentioned is 'Lullaby' by The Cure
The next morning Reyes woke up, stiff from head to toe. Sara had followed him
home from Tartarus and they ended up doing blow and fucking until Reyes finally
had to pass out from exhaustion, somewhere around 5am. She was wild, completely
psychotic and liked to cut. He needed a shower and maybe a few stitches.
He looked over at blue eyes peeking out from under the blankets, watching him.
Reyes panicked for a moment, he had no idea who was in his bed right now. He
hoped Sara had left, but he’d take her company over some of the others.  He
gingerly reached over and slid the blankets away from the face, eyeliner still
nearly intact, red lipstick smeared. He cupped his hand to the cheek, “Who’s in
there?”
“Luci, Have I ever told you that you look like an angel?”
Reyes laughed in relief. It’s something Scott had told him most mornings when
they woke up together, at least before everything started going to shit. “All
the time, mi amore.”
 “I don’t have to leave, do I?”
“Never.” Reyes meant it. He didn’t care what Scott did to him, how much he
hated the boy’s guts sometimes. He would cling possessively to the fragile
creature forever. He reached over and pulled the scarred body into a tight
embrace, Scott nuzzling his face into his neck.
Scott started humming a song that Reyes didn’t recognize. A few words softly
escaped. “The spider man is having me for dinner tonight.” Odd boy.
Scott stayed himself for several days before the next terrifying outburst.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Summary
     Scott and Reyes should not be together. They both flip a lid, in
     their respective manners.
Chapter Notes
     Warning: non/con, violence, self loathing.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
November 17, 1985
 
Reyes dodged as the tv remote flew passed his head, shattering across the wall.
“Scott, stop! Calm down!”
Scott had started screaming franticly about five minutes prior. They had been
curled up on the sofa watching some seriously bad teen drama about social
outcasts in detention (Breakfast Club?), but Scott loved it, so Reyes
acquiesced. They weren’t wearing much, as it was just the two of them,
occasional soft kisses and caresses to bare skin. It was nice, how it had been,
and how Reyes hoped it would always be. But now, Scott was off the handle.
Reyes since had been trying to corner and restrain him so he could prepare his
sedatives. “Witch!” Pillows from the sofa followed the remote, Reyes pushed
them away from his face as they came at him.
“My heart is gone!” Scott began desperately clawing at his chest, leaving red,
bleeding welts. “It’s gone!” As soon as Reyes came closer, a clawed hand
flailed out and got him across the cheek, he could feel welts of his own
forming; it stung something fierce. “The devil take you!”
“Calm down, Scott! No one has taken your heart, shush now!” Reyes was trying to
muster all his patience, he didn’t want to give Scott any more of a mind fuck
than he was already going through, but it was getting to the point where force
was going to be necessary.
But the boy kept flailing and the screaming wouldn’t stop. A glass of wine came
crashing at Reyes, he moved, but it shattered on his elbow, leaving a bloody
gash that would need stitches. Enough was enough. Reyes lunged and tackled
Scott, trying to get him into a subduing hold. They struggled on the floor for
several minutes before Reyes had his belt tied around Scott’s wrists.
He dragged a kicking, flailing Scott to the bedroom by the arms, it was a
physically exhausting exertion and Reyes was growing angry, which was equally
mentally exhausting keeping it in check. As they got into the bedroom, Scotts
kicking legs knocked into the dresser causing all the objects on top to go
crashing to the floor. Framed pictures, a bottle of cologne, a coin jar… glass
littered the floor and cut the bottoms of Reyes’ feet as he was forced to step
through it in the struggle. The cologne burned into the new cuts. “Shiiit!
Fuck!”
Reyes managed to finally get the boy face first onto the bed, sitting on the
small of his back, fore arm against the back of his head while he worked to
move the restraints so Scott was properly belted to the headboard. Once the
belt was tied in place, Scott’s arms above his head, he removed the pressure of
his body from the boy’s frame and made a move to grab his cuffs from the
nightstand. As soon as Reyes moved, Scott was up on his knees, pulling with all
his might, cracking the wood of the headboard. Cuffs in hand, Reyes grabbed him
by the ankles and flattened him back to his belly, restraining an ankle to the
foot post.
Scott was still screaming bloody murder, “Witch! My heart! May the devil take
your soul!” His face was bright red and the veins in his neck were popping out.
Reyes moved quickly into the locked cupboard in the bathroom, prepared a double
dose of Nembutal in a syringe, then like a bat out of hell was back to Scott,
flailing around his restraints. Reyes ripped the boy’s boxers away from his ass
and drove the syringe into a perfect, round cheek. A few minutes later the
kicking subsided, and Scott finally drifted off, finally calm and sleeping.
Reyes was seething, staying calm was the most taxing thing in the world at that
moment. Breathing hard, sweating, bleeding, and voice shaking, “I hate you... I
fucking hate you,” he told the boy. Rage boiled in him that he no longer cared
if he kept in check. He snapped.
He pulled his own boxers down and mounted the comatose Scott, grabbing his hair
and growling in his ear, “You hear that you shit?” He slammed the dead weight
of Scott's head back to the pillow. He used his knee to move Scott’s one
unrestrained leg up and out of the way, then used spit to lube up and entered
him. He fucked Scott for all he was worth, which at that moment, wasn’t a lot.
He came quick, desperately needing that release. He was a piece of garbage. He
ungracefully pulled out, stumbled back off the bed and stared at him. Bleeding,
bruised and restrained, breathing the deep breath of drug induced sleep.
A soft sound came from the TV in the other room, the ending credits:
Will you stand above me?
Look my way, never love me
Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling
Down, down, down
Self-loathing filled Reyes, tears filled his eyes and he needed to scream. “I…
FUCKING…HATE YOU!!!”
Chapter End Notes
     For anyone who's not seen the Breakfast Club, the ending credits was
     "Don't Forget About Me" by Simple Minds.
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Summary
     Maybe everything doesn't completely suck!
Chapter Notes
     Starts with dark broody thoughts, but I figured I'd lighten the mood
     a bit! A chapter with a happy ending... don't expect it a lot, though
     ;)
     edit: chapter 8 posted today. I'm going to add the posting date to
     the new chapters from here on out, since a lot of them will be
     inserted into Part One rather than added to the end.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Feb 14, 1986
The last several months had left Reyes in a state of utter mental exhaustion.
Scott had slowly started becoming himself more frequently until the shifts only
occurred every few days, but when they happened, Reyes was terrified of what he
might bring himself to do, what he had brought himself to do.
Reyes often daydreamed about shooting Scott in the head, then turning the
pistol on himself. The world would be better off, they would be better off. But
he couldn’t do it. They would certainly die together, but not like that. He
sometimes thought about trying to end it by having Scott institutionalized, but
as soon as the thought crossed his mind it was like an invisible fist punched
him in the gut. He was more than in love, he was addicted. And to what, he
couldn’t fathom.
The only time he felt misery like this was as a young boy, beaten by his mother
for not being kinder to tío Alejandro. He couldn’t find it in him to be nice to
the man. He was a deplorable man and did deplorable things. Especially to Reyes
and his sister. And now he regularly felt the clutches of that sickness at his
throat after so many years.
But then, like the breath of God to sooth his weary soul, Scott would come back
to himself and Reyes would forget the exhaustion and misery for a few fleeting
moments. And those moments were worth every dark thought that threatened to
extinguish him, every vile action that made him less human.
It was with those mixed thoughts that Reyes walked home from Tartarus, stopping
next door to pick up Scotts favorite Chinese take-out on the way. A block from
home, he snuck into his neighbor’s garden and plucked one perfect red rose from
a bush, then continued on, dread filling every chamber of his heart. Dread… and
hope. Flickering hope, so dim it was almost unnoticed. But it was there.
He entered his warehouse building, nearly swallowed whole by his trepidation,
but as he approached his door, he heard music from within and the not so
harmonious sounds of Scott singing along in falsetto.
 Trying to find it…
You’ve got to get up behind it…
Reyes leaned his head on the door briefly, smiling to himself in utter relief.
Put your dime in the hot slot…
It’s a million to one shot…
He turned the handle and walked into the loft, an even larger smile splitting
his face at the scene before him. Scott was up on the island countertop wearing
nothing but a chef’s apron, dancing for all his worth, singing along into a
dirty spatula, dried egg coating the edge. Reyes was actually impressed at his
moves, and entirely appreciative of the way his backside jiggled as he moved
his hips.
Give me a breakdown…
It's time for a shakedown…
Scott gave a little squeal as he noticed Reyes watching him, frozen in place. A
look of embarrassment crossed his face, ears turning slightly red, but it was
only momentarily. Laughing, he did a little spin in time to the music, then
shook his ass in Reyes’ direction.
Reyes set the food and flower down on the counter near the fridge, then he
leaned back and took in the rest of the show, grinning ear to ear, whistling in
appreciation. As the song ended and the radio DJ started in on what we just
heard and what’s up next, Scott stopped to catch his breath.
 Reyes approached him, standing tall on the island, beaming down at him, blue
eyes glittering. Reyes ran his hands up the back of his legs, tucked his head
inside the apron and gave a little bite to the inside of his thigh. Scott was
far too tall in his current position, and Reyes couldn’t reach where his lips
wanted to go, so he pulled the boy down to sit on the edge.
Still giggling, Scott sat and pulled Reyes in tightly, legs wrapping around his
waist, mouth fervently seeking his own. Reyes lost himself in the moment,
forgetting that he had ever had doubts or sadness. Nothing in the world existed
except the two of them. Momento lux.
“Angelum lucis ex tenebris,” Scott breathed into the kiss. Reyes didn’t know
what it meant, but he loved it none the less. Loved this strange boy and all
his odd charm. He made a mental note to discover where the boy learned all the
Latin from.
Reyes slid his arms around Scott’s waist and untied the string of the chef’s
apron, then once the stiff fabric was banished to the floor, he urged him down
onto his back.  Reyes removed his own clothes while Scott got himself
comfortable on the cold countertop, stretching arms above his head and arching
his back. Scott was singing softly to himself. There was a tall man with his
companion. And I bet you gave him coffee homeground…He let out a ticklish
giggle and jerked back as he pinched his own nipples. “Oops”.
They were both laughing as Reyes climbed onto the island above Scott, placing
his hips between the boy’s thighs. A small frown came to Scott’s face as the
commercial break ended and the DJ’s voice chimed in. “Here’s a new one from
Erasure!” Scott’s lip started trembling as the song began, his eyes growing
wide. I try to discover… a little something to make me sweeter…Scott covered
his face with his hands and let out a sob. Oh, baby refrain… from breaking my
heart…Reyes quickly hopped down so he could shut off the offending song. I’m so
in love with you…
Reyes hit the off switch and hurried back to Scott, who had curled into a ball
on his side, weeping into his hands.
“Scott, shhhh. It’s ok now.” Reyes helped him sit up and tried to sooth him
with a warm embrace, gentle hands caressing his hair. His shoulder was soaked
with tears for his effort. Scott clung to him, shaking.
After a few minutes of being held, Scott shifted out of the embrace, found a
linen towel and dried his cheeks, then blew his nose. “I’m better. I feel
better. I think I just spoiled everything.” He gave a short, defeated laugh.
Reyes hugged him again, “Not everything, mi amore. I have Chinese food.” He
pulled back from the embrace and winked.
Scott purred through his teeth, eyelids drooped halfway. “I want to eat that
off your body.”
Reyes laughed, “That can be arranged.”
It didn’t take long for Scott to pop back to himself, his ghosts subdued for a
time. He smiled and laughed when Reyes realized that he was quite serious about
using him as a plate, not allowing the other man to dress. By the time the two
of them were finished eating, Reyes was covered head to toe in Szechuan, Scott
happily licking him clean, focusing most of his attention on his groin. Reyes
didn’t mind one bit.
They eventually moved into the shower, where Reyes helped Scott wash away
pieces of their dinner from his hair, still laughing. Once they were acceptably
clean, no more debris from their meal clinging to their bodies, the two young
men stood under the falling water and shared themselves completely.
It wasn’t just sex. Up until this point the relationship felt like something
clingy, trashy, obsessive on both ends.  Something transcended in that moment,
the darkness and the light melded together then dissipated, leaving the two of
them locked together in tender embrace. Sex was carnal and ferocious between
them, this was something else.
Something shifted within Reyes, and he knew from that moment on he’d always
love all of the hidden beings in Scott’s mind. No more frustration, anger or
hate. God is love; he bathed in His presence. Reyes could feel a million souls
peeking out through the window of the boy’s eyes, and he knew that all those
Lost Boys secreted within Scott knew they were loved, too. Completely.
“Te amo, Luci” Scott whispered as their lips met. Though it was just one voice,
to Reyes, it seemed like he heard a hundred voices say it at once, every part
of Scott now belonged to him, and Reyes belonged to Them.
After that night, Scott had very few violent outbursts towards Reyes over the
next six and a half years they would be together. When his mind shifted to
another personality, Reyes was able to keep them calm and warm, he became a
symbol of comfort to the disturbed young man. It seemed Scott started accepting
what happened, or perhaps found solace in the acceptance Reyes finally gave
him.
As they curled up to sleep, time and the outside world forgotten, Scott began
humming again.“You won’t get me with your hemlock on the rocks”.Reyes smiled as
he drifted off. Scott would always be strange and he was glad for it.
Chapter End Notes
     Shameless use of 80's songs!
     "Temptation" by Heaven 17
     "Coffee Homeground" by Kate Bush (the song Scott was humming, both
     times)
     "Respect" by erasure
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