Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Katrina Strauss

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or
existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of
this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing,
photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-609-5
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Jana J. Hanson
Cover Artist: P. L. Nunn

Chapter One

“How y’all bitches doing tonight?”

With a toss of her ebony curls, the statuesque black diva greeted the crowd. The

modest gathering of men seated near the stage hooted and wolf-whistled back.

“That bad, huh?” she asked, deadpan, hand on one hip. The crowd cheered louder. Her

rouge red smile widened in approval as her hand fluttered against her ample breasts. “Yes,

honey, much better, much better. Show me your love.”

She strutted and sashayed across the small stage, her sequined gown accentuating her

curves as her stiletto heels clicked in time to the sway of her hips. “I’m Miss Doreena Dee

Vine. That’s Dee for” -- she paused, primping her wig, patting herself on the butt --

“

delicious

.” She peered into the crowd and held out her hand, open-palmed. “Wait a minute

now. Hold up, y’all, hold up.” She pointed one lacquered red nail. “Girl, what have you done

to your hair?”

The busboy looked up from where he was clearing a table, surprised for the moment to

find the spotlight turned on him. He grinned shyly, then mouthed something toward the

stage.

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“What’s that?” Miss Doreena asked, cupping her hand to her ear. “You say that’s your

natural

color?” Her jaw dropped in disbelief as she scanned the crowd, then fixed her sights

back on her target. “So does that mean you’re blue all over?”

At the crowd’s laughter, the boy blushed pink to his blue-tinged roots and quickly

went back to busing tables. Miss Doreena turned her focus to another unsuspecting audience

member and continued working the crowd.

From the corner of the dimly-lit alcove, Derek Graves took in the drag queen’s antics.

Reclined in his chair, his long legs stretched and crossed at the ankles, he turned the chrome

butane lighter in his hand and tapped it against the scratched tabletop.

Turn, tap, turn, tap

With his other hand, he nursed his third drink of the evening.

He watched; he waited.

Turn, tap, turn, tap

He wasn’t sure what had snapped him out of his stupor, a misery fest of self-loathing

that had lasted the past few weeks. He only knew it was time to act, time to seek…

Revenge

If only he could remember the asshole’s face.

Certain a simple sighting would jog his memory, he peered between wisps of his

shoulder-length auburn hair and scanned the club, the alcove affording a good view of the

premises while its occupants remained discreetly tucked in the shadows.

Blue Ruin, his preferred haunt in the Oakwood district for a few years now, with

watered-down well drinks, bad disco music, and all. He’d found so many willing young men

here, taken in by his easy cash and sleek vintage suits, their appetites further whetted when

he’d lured them outside to his black Porsche -- a cheap model which he drove courtesy of a

low-interest lease, but his passengers never knew the difference. Pretty boys, skinny boys, all

of them over eighteen but their hands stamped

Under 21

, his instincts to their natures

confirmed once he’d gotten them back to his place, and they’d easily submitted to his every

carnal whim.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

As always, post-libido guilt had plagued him afterward. As always, he’d come back to

Blue Ruin, hunting for new prey, his sadistic urges renewed. Nearing his thirtieth birthday,

he’d searched in vain for the one who would stay with him and let him raise things to the

next level -- one strong enough to take the pain, yet submissive enough to relish the role of

hapless victim.

And then three weeks ago, the tables had been turned. He’d found himself on the

wrong side of the fantasy, his part in it nonconsensual.

A clatter of glass and ice broke Derek’s reverie. From a closer vantage, he saw that Miss

Doreena had not been exaggerating about the busboy. A shock of bangs, dyed cobalt blue

save for a strip of pure white, fell from beneath the black scarf that held the young

employee’s hair back.

Forgetting, for a moment, his purpose for coming that night, Derek peered over the rim

of his drink and watched the new boy. He took in the eyes smudged with kohl, the cheap

plastic bracelets that ringed one skinny arm. Pierced ears added to the youth’s disaffected

vibe, the row of studs on his left ending at the cartilage on top.

Despite the seedy surroundings, Derek assumed the owners only hired ages eighteen

and up. Yet the boy’s lush, full lips and soft, cherubic features lent him a younger aura.

Draining his drink, Derek plunked the glass down. Ice rattled around wedges of lime.

The ruse worked. His attention caught, the busboy stepped into the alcove. As he

approached, Derek noted his build. Just his type, roughly five-foot-eight, making the boy

half a foot shorter than he, with a pale and slender frame -- at least what Derek could make

of it, given the oversized black T-shirt and wide-legged carpenter jeans.

In the shadows now, the busboy greeted him with a shy grin. “I’ll get those,” he

offered, swiping Derek’s empty glasses into the plastic tub balanced at his hip.

Derek nodded and lit up another cigarette.

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“Smoking’s bad for you,” the boy said, wiping the table with a damp rag. Derek noticed

he used his left hand.

“So is breathing,” Derek countered, studying him intently.

The boy laughed, casting him a sidelong glance, then bit into his lip. He began to scrub

the table more vigorously. Even in the dark, Derek could tell he’d just blushed. Reaching out,

he placed his hand over the boy’s wrist and stopped him. The boy flinched in surprise, but he

didn’t pull away.

“Tell the waiter I need another drink.” Derek gave the boy a pointed look. “I’ll be here

a while.”

The boy darted out his tongue, just a little, and licked his lips. “Sure.”

Standing straight, he held Derek’s gaze a moment longer before turning to leave.

If he came back sooner than three drinks this time, Derek would take that as his cue

and make his move.

He watched the boy walk away, his rhythm lithe and svelte beneath the baggy clothes.

Derek entertained the prospects, the urges he’d repressed since his last visit to Blue Ruin

rising full force. The things he could teach such an innocent, ripe for the plucking, perfect

for training. With that enticing notion came an image of the skinny, blue-haired busboy,

naked and tied to his bed, moaning in pleasure, crying in pain.

Instantly, his thoughts were bombarded with another vision.

A b ight flash of light.

His own hands tied to a stranger’s bedpost , the rope cutting into the flesh of his wrists as

he’d been pummeled from behind. The drug in his blood, the belt at his neck. He could

barely breathe…another snap, another flash of white

…

Derek sat straight, stifling the gasp that had nearly burst from his throat. He crooked

his finger and loosened his tie.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“

,” he whispered. Never again would he take another in such a fashion; never would

he do what had been done to him. And he was here to make sure it never happened to him,

or anyone else, again.

A volley of boos and hisses erupted near the bar. Derek peered through the smoky din

of the lounge and caught the muted television screen that hung above the drink rack. The

late-night recap of the local news featured District Attorney James McGowan addressing the

press at the courthouse steps on some latest ruling. His office had earned a reputation for its

anti-gay bias in how certain cases were prosecuted, if at all. Combined with the policies of

his equally homophobic cronies on the police force, it made for one tense relationship

between Oakwood denizens and city law enforcement. In fact, it was that very prejudice and

ineffectiveness that had influenced Derek’s decision not to go to the police after what had

happened.

At least that was what he kept telling himself.

He caught sight of the pretty busboy, stopped behind the bar to alert the waiter. The

boy gestured toward the alcove, then stared up at the screen, his face twisting in a scowl. He

dropped the plastic tub with a loud rattle and turned away. Wiping his hands on his apron,

he stormed off and disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming behind. While the DA

certainly proved unpopular among the crowd, Derek found the boy’s reaction particularly

curious. Somehow it seemed…

personal

Miss Doreena chimed in, never missing a beat. “Now I know y’all bitches aren’t booing

at little old me!” She squinted across the club at the television, then tossed her glorious fake

mane in contempt. “Oh,

that

asshole! Jimmy McGowan, this next number is dedicated to

you

!”

A bass note sounded, and the disco classic

It’s Raining Men

began pumping through the

sound system. On cue, the crowd started clapping in time to the beat while Miss Doreena

launched into campy, choreographed lip synch.

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Another half hour passed; patrons came and went, some in pairs, others alone. The

busboy tended the tables in between. Derek plunked his fourth empty glass against the table.

His head spun, a buzz finally hitting him. He lit a fresh cigarette, inhaling deeply. Smoke

scorched his abused lungs.

A face in the crowd caught his attention. Sitting straight, Derek exhaled a thick plume

of smoke. Through narrowed eyes, he stared across the lounge at the man who had just taken

a seat on the main floor.

Could that be him?

He had the same blond waves, pleasant features, spotless smile. But Derek saw

something different in the eyes, something dark and cold and remote. Why hadn’t he seen it

that night, before he’d allowed himself to get talked into going home with someone who

normally wasn’t even his type?

Just a drink

, the asshole had told him, so Derek had agreed, thinking maybe it was time

to play with someone his own age.

His vision dimmed. Anger rising, he started to stand, then stopped short. Beside the

tall, blond stranger sat the blue-haired busboy. Apron off, he shared a drink with the man,

popping open a single can of orange soda. He looked in the general direction of the alcove,

his smile gone from shy to sly, and raised the can in toast, apparently sensing -- or hoping --

Derek watched.

Cute

, thought Derek, his alarm tinged with jealousy.

And you chose to have a drink

with him instead, becau e he’s sitting in the middle of the club while I’m lurking back here

in the shadows

He continued to watch and wait. If they went outside, he’d follow them.

Minutes passed, only a few by the clock, but the wait tedious. The boy chatted with the

blond, his body language open and flirtatious, yet his eyes drifting back to the alcove. The

blond went for the boy’s hands a few times, going so far as to gently pry one from the can,

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

but the boy played coy each time and pulled away, his gaze shifting toward the shadows and

Derek.

What is this scamp playing at?

Derek wondered. If the boy had been sitting with

anyone else, he would have marched over there and stolen him away.

He watched; he waited. He detected the boy’s movements growing sluggish, and his

eyes seemed a touch unfocused.

Surely the asshole wouldn’t be so bold as to drug the boy right there in the club?

He hadn’t observed the blond slip anything into the can, but then he was admittedly

distracted by the boy, his sense of concern mixed with an inexplicable desire to protect --

and possess.

Suddenly, the boy slumped in his seat, his eyes glazed. With a cool glance around the

club, the blond rose swiftly, hefting the boy with him. Derek froze, rooted to his seat, his

best-laid plans of action, of violence, of sweet revenge eluding him.

The boy’s head lolled against the blond’s chest, yet somehow, his gaze found Derek’s,

through the smoke and the shadows, and their eyes locked. He managed to mouth a single

word before his jaw went slack.

Help

The boy and his captor disappeared into the crowd. On autopilot now, Derek rose. He

left a wad of cash on the table, shoved his cigarettes and car keys into his pocket. Flying from

the alcove, he tore across the main floor toward the exit. Miss Doreena cooed after him.

“What’s the rush, sugar? Was it something I said?”

Derek burst outside into the chill night air. He grabbed the bouncer, big and burly with

tattooed biceps, by the lapels of his leather vest. “A tall blond” -- he growled -- “and the boy

who works here, the one with the blue hair. Where did they go?”

Taken aback, the behemoth stammered and nodded over his shoulder. “They went that

way. Kid looked wasted.”

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Derek released him. In swift stride, he rounded the corner of the brick building, then

raced down the sidewalk toward the back alley parking lot.

White…that fucker’s car had

been white…an outdated luxury model

…

He rounded the back of the club and spotted them, the blond piling his victim into the

passenger side of a Cadillac Eldorado. Already taking liberties, the blond grasped the boy’s

crotch and fondled him through his jeans.

The night went scarlet. In a haze, Derek flew across the parking lot, hair whipping

madly behind. His fist made instant contact under the other man’s jaw.

“You son of a bitch.”

The man stumbled back, catching himself with his hands as he fell on his ass. He stared

up at Derek, stunned. A leer twisted the sadist’s lips as recognition sparked his eyes.

“Came back for more, did you?” He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. He started

to rise. The heel of Derek’s wing-tipped shoe met him squarely in the face.

Derek stepped back and waited, heart pounding, breath coming fast. “Come on, you

fucker,” he hissed through bared teeth. “Come on…”

The blond struggled to get up. His nose crushed, his eye swollen, he staggered toward

Derek -- just as Derek had intended. Reaching out, he seized a fistful of blond waves and

swung the asshole around, directly into the wall. He grinned madly at the sickening crunch

of bone against brick. Unsatisfied, he did it again, and again. He released his hold and stepped

back. The other man slid to the asphalt in a crumpled heap, blood oozing down the wall in

his wake, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Derek towered over him, opening and closing his fists, twitching with adrenaline, his

fury unabated. He’d meant for the asshole to suffer more.

A strangled retch sounded from the car. Derek whirled around, his hair whipping in

his face. Through the Eldorado’s windshield, he saw the boy’s face had gone red. In a

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

heartbeat, he had the boy in his arms, squeezing him from behind. The remains of the boy’s

tainted orange drink splattered to the ground.

He should have gone, right then and there, and left the boy behind. Instead, Derek

hefted his young charge over one shoulder and carried him to the Porsche parked several

spaces over. Once he’d deactivated the car alarm, he propped the boy in the passenger seat

and crouched beside the open door.

Leaning in, he gently cupped the boy’s chin and tipped his face from side to side. So

soft, so beautiful, but the boy reeked of the club, of stale sweat and unwashed clothes. Derek

knew that scent -- the scent of the street.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered a moment, revealing crystal blue-gray eyes, the pupils tiny

pinpricks of black. A low groan escaped his throat. “Wha’ happened?”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek said. “You threw up before the drug could take full effect.”

The boy began to shiver. “Cold…”

“I know.” Derek slipped out of his jacket and covered the boy. The best thing to do

now was keep him warm, and keep him talking.

After he’d started the car, he turned on the heater. “What’s your name?”

Huddled beneath the jacket, the boy trembled and struggled to answer. “Sh-sh-shane.

But ever’one calls me Bl-bl…”

“Blue?” Derek guessed, a smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. His attention was

diverted as he caught sight of the bouncer ambling around back, his bulky arms stiff at his

side. The giant froze, spotting the bloodied, unconscious blond. Eyes widening, he squatted

down and checked the man for a pulse. He rose, unclipping a cell phone from his pocket, and

pounded back around the building.

Derek decided it was time to go. Reaching the street, he drove the normal speed,

checking the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t being followed. A few blocks past the

shop fronts, he passed the oddly built structure known as The Chicken Coop, a vacant yellow

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house that had proved the bane of countless realtors. Passing the house, which indeed

resembled an oversized henhouse, he veered onto a narrow side street, named, as were all

the other streets in Oakwood, after a tree.

“Where do you live?” Derek asked his passenger. “I’ll take you home.”

“N’where. Dad kicked me out…”

Derek’s head snapped in alarm. Maybe the boy

was

underage? Last thing he needed

was to get pulled over with a drugged minor in his car.

“How old are you?”

Blue’s teeth had stopped chattering, but his speech retained its languid drawl. “Almost

nineteen…still had half a year of school left…”

“Ah.” Derek nodded, relieved. Yet the question remained of what to do with this

hapless, homeless whelp -- one whom he found attractive. He wet his lips, keeping his tone

even as he focused on driving, cruising past frame houses with long drives and wide lawns,

the sidewalks lined with picket fences and shaded by majestic oaks. How this quaint

suburban neighborhood, straight out of a 1950s sitcom, had evolved into the rainbow district

was beyond Derek. He braked at a stop sign, then turned onto the frontage road. The hum of

the expressway vibrated several feet below.

“Where’ve you been staying?”

“Here and there, sofa surfing. Oh, God…” Blue winced. Legs drawn beneath the jacket,

he rested his face against his knees. His shoulders heaved with a ragged sob. “

My head

.”

Derek understood -- he’d been there. Yet in lieu of sympathy, the sound of the boy

crying elicited something cruel and dark in him. At the stirrings of arousal, he kept his voice

cool, his manner detached. “You’ll have one hell of a headache kid. Be thankful you were

just drinking orange soda.”

“Mm-not-a-kid.” Blue began to shiver again. “C-c-old…”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Shifting gears, Derek merged onto the freeway. Eyes on the road, he readjusted the

heat settings. The past few weeks, he’d researched various date rape drugs, trying to

determine what had been given to him. While reactions varied, cold spells were common,

with the accompanying shakes often a predecessor to seizure.

He turned on the radio. A classic ’80s tune wafted from the speakers -- a crappy song,

but one that everyone knew the words too nonetheless.

“You know this song?” Derek asked.

“Y-y-yeah…”

“Sing along.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

Nearing the exit to the closest hospital, Derek signaled and got over to the right. His

mind racing, he considered what he’d tell the clerk at the admittance desk. The ER nurses

would ask questions, perhaps file a police report. And what if the medics brought in the man

he’d left battered behind Blue Ruin?

He swerved left, horns blaring as he crossed the solid white line and shot back onto the

freeway. Blue, oblivious to Derek’s erratic driving, muttered the words to the song under his

breath. His mumbling tapered, then halted.

“You okay?” Derek asked with a sidelong glance.

“This song s-s-sucks…”

“I know,” he smiled thinly. “Keep singing.”

His jaw set, Derek clutched the wheel with one hand and went for his smokes with the

other. Coming upon an infamously tricky junction, he checked the rearview mirror. In one

fluid maneuver, he shifted gears, floored the accelerator, and slid the Porsche through four

lanes of traffic, all while lighting a cigarette. Smoothly, he skimmed just inches from the

concrete guard as he curved toward the heart of the city.

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Blue stopped singing; his tremors ceased again. He opened his eyes and squinted

through the windshield at the looming skyline.

“Where we goin’?”

Derek exhaled a stream of smoke. “Home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Jericho Pass.”

“Cool.” Blue wrinkled his nose. “The smoke stinks.”

Derek cracked his window. “Better?”

“No. Think I’m gonna be sick…”

Hurriedly, Derek flicked his cigarette out the window. “

Shit

,” he groaned as Blue made

good on his threat.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Chapter Two

Blue woke in pitch darkness. It took him a moment to register the blindfold wrapped

around his head, the restraints cinched at his wrists. Yet he felt soft pillows beneath him,

propping him in a half-sitting position, supporting his arms where they crooked beside his

head. A loose-fitting, long-sleeved shirt draped his torso, while smooth linen caressed his

bare legs. And his bare ass.

Alarmed, Blue lurched forward. Chains rattled against metal. The shirt slipped down

one shoulder, while the sheets pooled at his waist. His chin-length shag cut fell around his

face, soft and smooth, free of his scarf, and smelling of shampoo. Very fruity shampoo.

Where the fuck was he? Why was he half naked and smelling like fucking fruit?

He winced at the dull ache in his temples. Willing himself to remain calm, he took

slow, deep breaths and tried to remember.

There’d been a man, the blond guy, who’d invited him to have a drink after his shift.

Blue had figured he’d make pleasantries, then go see if that hot guy with the long hair, the

one he’d really wanted to talk to, was still waiting in the corner. But then he’d started feeling

lightheaded. He’d only eaten once that day -- a bag of fries for lunch -- and so he’d thought

maybe the drink had given him a sugar rush, but then…

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What? What had happened next?

His head snapped at the soft pad of footsteps, blended with an intermittent creak of

floorboards. The scent of food filled his nostrils. The bed shifted from another’s weight.

Silverware clinked.

Blue drew back against the pillows. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Who --” his voice cracked, his throat dry. He started over, his demand barely above a

whisper. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Somewhere safe,” a male voice replied, vaguely familiar, the timbre low and smooth

like that of a radio announcer.

“

Safe

?” Blue croaked. “My drink…you put something in my drink…”

“No. Someone else did that.”

Dimly, a trace of memory returned. The blond had taken him outside, then the long-

haired one had shown up. He’d been piled into a car, and then driven down the freeway.

Speeding…the driver had definitely been speeding…

Fear-laced adrenaline surged through him, and his heart lodged roughly somewhere in

his throat. “You two were working together.”

“No, we weren’t. I rescued you from him.”

“Some rescue!” To Blue’s embarrassment, his snarl came out more like a screech. He

tugged at his restraints in emphasis. The shirt slipped completely down his shoulder and

caught at his elbow, leaving him more exposed. “Why the fuck am I tied up in your bed?”

“Blue,” the man explained coolly, “you needed to sleep in an upright position, in case

you got sick again. You may have had a seizure, too, so for your safety, I restrained you.”

“Oh.”

Holy shit, a seizure?

Yet he’d been coherent enough, at some point, to divulge his

nickname. Blue started to ask another question, but long fingers brushed his cheek, then

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

cupped his chin. His first instinct was to flinch, yet the stranger’s touch, both gentle and

firm, provided an odd sense of comfort that put him at ease.

“You need to eat,” his captor --

re cuer?

-- explained. “The sooner you hold something

down, the faster the drug will be purged from your system.”

A spoon filled with warm liquid touched Blue’s lower lip, and the scent of something

warm and good greeted him. Despite the sour ache in his belly, he was consumed with

hunger. Hoping, trusting, that he was not about to be poisoned again, he took a small sip. His

gag reflex threatened, then eased as the warm broth trailed down his esophagus.

“Miso,” he observed, licking his lips, detecting a hint of onion and fish broth beneath

the stronger flavors of salt and fermented soy.

“Yes,” the man explained, offering him another spoonful. “The Japanese swear by it as a

hangover cure.”

Blue swallowed the broth gratefully. But he still had questions. “If I’m okay, why am I

still tied up? Why the hell am I blindfolded?”

The stranger fed him a third sip before answering. “Now that you’re sober, I don’t want

you to see my face.”

“Why? Are you ugly?” Blue smirked.

The man chuckled softly. “I’m driving you somewhere in a bit, and letting you go. I

don’t want you to remember me.”

“But I do remember you,” Blue confessed. He took another sip of the proffered soup.

“You’re the man with the long hair.” At the jerk of the spoon, he knew he’d called it right.

“Dark hair, down to your shoulders --” In the shadows of the alcove, he’d guessed the shade

to be dark brown, but couldn’t be certain. He decided to go with something less specific.

“And your eyes…” Yes, those Blue remembered. Even in the club, he’d seen that they

were gorgeous, with a distinctive almond tilt, an exotic shape that had stood out from the

man’s pale face. “They look kind of --” He paused, aware he might come off as offensive.

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Then again, considering he was half naked and tied up in the stranger’s bed, being

offensive

was the least of his concerns. “Asian. Or something…”

The man jerked his hand from his chin. Blue grinned in triumph.

“Yeah,” he continued, his voice stronger, his mind still foggy but his memory more

sure. “You did something to the other man, the one with the blond hair. He took me

outdoors… And then you took me, and put me in --” He paused, thinking, then guessed

again, remembering the swift glide of speed, the rhythmic shifting of gears. He figured he’d

be close, anyway. “Your Ferrari. No, wait, a Porsche. Or was it --”

The bed shifted, along with sound of dishes being upset. “

Fuck

,” the stranger growled.

“I guess you messed that other guy up pretty bad, huh?” As the words tumbled out,

realization sank in.

Why else would he be tied up and blindfolded?

Blue’s stomach soured all over again, and the miso threatened to come up. “Oh, God,”

he murmured, his lip quivering. “Is he…you know…”

Blue couldn’t bring himself to say

dead

, no matter what that asshole might have

intended to do after drugging his drink. His unfinished question was answered by the

familiar sound of a butane lighter clinking shut. The smell of fresh cigarette smoke filled the

air.

“He’s in a coma,” the man finally answered. “Admitted to ICU under John Doe.”

Shit, oh shit

. “I won’t tell,” Blue pled quietly. “And even if I did, it was self-defense,

right? Like you said, you rescued me.”

Yes, Blue assured himself, the blond had been hurt in order to protect him. And now

he was being spoon-fed warm miso soup, his body engulfed in a slippery pool of satin…

“Wait a minute!” he screeched, jerking at the chains again. “Why am I half dressed?”

He heard the stranger inhale, slow and smooth, then exhale. “I gave you a bath,” his

rescuer --

captor?

-- answered matter-of-factly.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“A bath?” Blue asked, stunned.

“You got sick on yourself in the car, then again in the elevator.”

“Oh.” That, he didn’t recall. “What did you do with my clothes?”

“I threw them down the chute to the incinerator.”

“You

burned

them?”

“Yes, along with my jacket.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Rethinking his strategy, Blue figured his best course of action

would be to start making light. “So, um, when you gave me my bath, did you like what you

saw?”

Met once more by silence, Blue took that to be a yes. At the thought that this beautiful

stranger had seen him, perhaps touched him, his cock stirred beneath the sheets, and his sly

grin faltered. Shifting his hips, discomfited that he could find arousal in his vulnerable

situation, he tried to maintain his cool.

“So let me get this straight. You got to see me naked, but I’m not allowed to see your

face? A face that I remember.”

The man heaved a sigh, and the bed shifted again. Fingers brushed Blue’s temples,

sending a jolt of current through him, and he felt the blindfold tugged upward. Blue squinted

against the light, filtered into the room through sheer gauze curtains. As his vision adjusted,

the man sitting before him came into soft focus.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his cheeks suddenly blazing hot. “I remember you.”

But Blue certainly didn’t recall his captor as quite so intensely handsome. While he’d

changed into a black knit sweater and loose fit jeans, the man still cut as striking a figure as

he had in a suit the night before. Yet in the dark of the club, Blue had been unable to see

how the rich auburn highlights of the man’s silken mane complemented eyes of brilliant

jade, their almond tilt hinting at an Asian heritage. Or how his pale skin and generous mouth

proved an interesting contrast against the hard, masculine edge of sharp cheekbones and

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squared chin. But those eyes -- God, those eyes -- were what truly lent the man his unique,

exotic appeal.

Chiding himself for getting distracted by a pretty face, Blue managed to tear his own

eyes away long enough to take a look around. He quickly assessed his situation. He sat

beneath a layer of cream-colored satin in the midst of a king-sized bed, dressed only in a

white button-down shirt, his wrists bound to a wrought-iron headboard by leather straps

and chains. A black silk robe hung from the bedpost to his left. The blindfold, now on a

vintage-distressed nightstand, proved to be a black satin mask. The digital clock beside it

confirmed the time as early afternoon.

On the floor, from beneath the bamboo tray which had been upset, a wet spot soaked

into a lush Persian rug. Glancing at the other furnishings in the single-space loft, Blue found

himself surrounded by delicate shades of ivory, taupe, and walnut, offset here and there with

black. A leather suite and large plasma screen television dominated the den area. One corner

of the loft housed a large hutch workspace that contained three flat-screen computer

monitors, neatly stacked books, and various electronic gadgets. The kitchen, separated from

the rest of the loft by only a U-shaped island, shone with spotless sink, stove, and

countertops. A small dinette table and two matching chairs appeared suspiciously showroom

clean, as if they’d been thrown in the loft as an obligatory afterthought rather than for any

actual use.

Peering back through the gauze curtains, Blue made out a pair of tall French doors;

through them showed an expansive deck which afforded a view of the neighboring

building’s rooftop, set with a pool and a roof garden. Farther back, he noted the outline of

familiar skyscrapers.

Near downtown, and several stories up

, Blue thought to himself, the gears turning, his

memory jogged once more.

ericho Pass

. Yes, that was it. The man had said home was in

Jericho Pass, the expensive bohemian district.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

So his handsome captor had money, with a penchant for the finer things in life. And

judging from the restraints and blindfold, his captor liked kink.

Blue could certainly make the most of this situation.

“What’s your name?” he asked, consciously making an effort not to lose himself in

those striking green eyes again. At the stranger’s reticent look, he added, “Just your first

name. You could at least tell me that much.”

His answer was accompanied with a puff of smoke. “Derek.”

Blue vamped up what he knew to be his impish looks. “Well, Derek, if that guy doesn’t

make it, I don’t think it’ll be so bad. My old man might be pissed that his son likes cock, but

I’m sure he’d see that one of his friends tried the case.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Nervous, Blue wet his lips. But he was on a roll. “Well, you know what they do to guys

like us in prison, but you’d probably just get a few years for manslaughter at best.”

“What do you mean one of your old man’s friends?”

Blue smiled slyly, peering up through lowered lashes, knowing he might be done for

after all. But he couldn’t go home, and he sure as hell wasn’t going back to living on the

street.

And he could certainly think of worse places to be than chained to this beautiful man’s

bed. He answered Derek with a question of his own. “Did I tell you my real name last night?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Shane.”

“Did I tell you my last name?”

Derek’s eyes were dark slits now. “Get to the point, kid.”

Blue narrowed his eyes in turn, yet smiled all the more sweetly. “I’m not a kid. And the

name’s McGowan.”

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Maybe being the son of the outspoken, homophobic, ultra-conservative District

Attorney had its benefits after all.

Derek rose abruptly and glared down at him, lips pursed, jaw clenched, anger

simmering behind those brilliant emerald eyes. His hands curled into fists -- long, elegant

hands, yet capable of beating someone into a bloody pulp. Blue waited, hiding his fear,

prepared to be smacked, bludgeoned, praying that his instincts had been on target.

Derek spoke at last, his tone one of calm restraint. “How much do you want?”

Oh, this was simply too grand, entirely too easy

. But Blue didn’t want money.

“Just to stay,” he shrugged. “Here. With you.”

Derek studied him a moment, the anger in his eyes fading to suspicion. He inhaled

another drag of his cigarette. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. I’ll earn my keep. Cook, clean --”

“I order takeout, and I’m hardly a slob.”

“Then make me your, I don’t know, personal assistant. Something, anything --

anything you want.”

Derek stood over him, arms crossed. He raised one eyebrow, his lips twisting in a

smirk. Yet Blue read lust behind the man’s eyes, detected authority in his very stance. The

sudden shift in his demeanor both unnerved Blue and excited him.

“Anything?” Derek stated more than asked.

Blue’s breath hitched in his throat, and his mouth went dry again. “Anything,” he

answered quietly. Playing along, Blue lowered his head in feigned humility and bit his lower

lip; yet in truth, he found his submissive gesture required little acting. He peered up at Derek

through his patch of albino bangs. Arousal surged through him, and his cock lengthened.

“I’ll think about it.” Leaning over, Derek stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the

nightstand. Turning, he grasped Blue by the left wrist. With a sharp jerk and a clink of the

chain, he cinched the cuff tighter. As he did, his hair brushed Blue’s bared shoulder. The

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

tickle on his flesh, combined with Derek’s heady scent, elicited a mad flurry in Blue’s

stomach.

Derek pivoted on his heels and walked toward the door, his stockinged feet padding

across the parquet floor of the bedroom onto the stone tile of the kitchen. He stopped near

the door and slipped his feet into a pair of black loafers which rested on a mat alongside

several other shoes.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Blue asked, panic rising anew.

“Out,” Derek answered, his back turned. He punched a few numbers on the security

keypad set in the wall.

“You’re leaving me here like this?” Blue said. “What if I pass out, or get sick again, or

something?”

“You’re feeling well enough to scheme,” Derek said, opening the door. “Let’s see how

well you enjoy playing prisoner.”

Derek stepped into the hall and started to shut the door, then stuck his head back

inside. “I’m running to the store for smokes. Want anything?”

“Yeah,” said Blue, sullen, defiant. “Something to drink.”

Derek cocked one brow. “Orange soda, perhaps?”

Oh, that was a low blow

. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Blue listened to the lock click in place. Absently, he tested his restraint where Derek

had tightened it. He expected the leather to cut into his flesh. Instead, the strap gave, and his

left hand slipped free, the chain piling onto the pillow.

Blue jumped, then looked around guiltily. “Shit, what do I do now?” he muttered to no

one but himself.

Katrina Strauss

Chapter Three

When Derek returned, he found Blue chained to the bed by one hand, remote control

in the other, the pillows adjusted so he could angle himself toward the den. Some

overdubbed anime movie, which Derek had watched in passing but couldn’t recall the name

of, played on the television.

He’d taken a chance in purposely loosening the cuff before he’d left, but as risky as it

might have been for the boy to leave, Derek would never do something as irresponsible as

leaving his restrained charge unattended. What if the building caught fire, for instance?

It had also given him an opportunity to test his new prisoner, and Blue had made the

grade. Absorbing this, he paused at the kitchen island. The bamboo tray rested beside the

sink, displaying the bowl and spoon which had been washed and dried.

Derek walked to the bed. The wet spot on the rug had been scrubbed clean. The

thought of the boy, bent over in only a shirt as he’d cleaned the rug, sent a jolt of arousal

straight to his prick.

Blue peered up at him with a smug grin and turned off the television. “Back so soon?”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Derek didn’t know if he should be angered, or pleased. Granted, the little smartass had

made it a point to demonstrate he’d gotten free, but he’d also passed his first test and proved

he could be trusted.

Derek grunted in reply and deposited the six-pack of bottled soda on the mattress. Blue

leaned forward. As the sheets slipped past his hips, Derek caught a wistful glance of the boy’s

taut, slender thighs where the shirt had pulled up.

Anything

, the boy had said.

When he’d given Blue the bath, his self-restraint had been less an act of respect than

one of clinical detachment. But now that he and his charge had entered some sort of quasi

contractual agreement, Derek wondered how far he might allow himself to take things.

Blue managed to retrieve one bottle with his free hand. Derek sat on the corner of the

bed and watched, amused, as Blue opened the bottle with his teeth and spit the cap onto the

bed. He tilted his head back and took a long, hearty swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing with

each swallow. Pausing for breath, he sighed and licked his lips, casting Derek a sidelong

glance.

Unwittingly aroused by the boy’s not-so-subtle flirtation, Derek sought to distract

himself from wayward thoughts. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans he took out his last

cigarette from the old pack. Crumpling the cellophane-wrapped paper, he tossed it into the

nearby wastebasket. He flicked his lighter, the flame just an inch from the tip of the

cigarette.

“The smoke really stinks,” said Blue, wrinkling his nose. “Can’t you, like, do that

outside?”

Derek cocked one eyebrow. He knew smoking was a bad habit, and he tried to show

courtesy around nonsmokers, but he didn’t appreciate Blue’s tone. “Say please,” he

instructed, cigarette dangling from his lips. “This

my house, after all.”

“Okay.

Please

don’t smoke your disgusting cancer sticks around me.”

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“That’s better.” Bristling, Derek rose and started toward the balcony. He stopped

himself short of lighting up before he opened the balcony door.

“I need to go the bathroom.”

Derek paused, hand on the door latch, and peered over his shoulder. Blue had risen up

on his knees. The loaned shirt slipped down his right arm, exposing one slender bicep, its

supple texture marred by a poorly rendered, obviously homemade tattoo of a blue rose.

Derek’s eyes strayed to Blue’s firm pec, smooth save for a small smattering of tiny blond hairs

clustered around one pink nipple.

Blue returned the look with the most beguiling of expressions. With his free arm

behind his back, he jerked the other and rattled the chain at his wrist.

Derek couldn’t decide if he was amused, aroused, or annoyed. He wondered whether

he had a manipulative brat or a true submissive on his hands.

Either way, he needed to set a few things straight before this arrangement progressed

further. Shoving the lighter and cigarette in his pocket, he climbed back onto the bed. Fully

dressed, he experienced a surge of power as he pressed against his near-naked hostage and

released the cuff.

Blue’s arms slipped around Derek’s shoulders. Greedy fingers twined his hair, while

hot, eager lips pressed at the pulse of his throat. Derek afforded himself the luxury of the

boy’s touch for but a brief, intoxicating moment before pushing him away. With a soft

thud

he had Blue pinned to the mattress. In one hand, he enclosed both of Blue’s frail wrists and

stretched his arms above his head. His cock strained against the fabric of his trousers, its

hardness matching and meeting that of the succulent body beneath him.

The seductive little wench licked his lips and parted them slightly, his gaze hooded, his

chin tilted -- an invitation to the kiss. Keeping his desire in check, Derek grasped Blue’s jaw

and held him firm, his mouth hovering but an inch away, his hair draped around them both

like a veil.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“If you stay, there are rules. Understand?”

“Yes,” Blue murmured, trying to nod.

Derek tightened his grip, making the boy’s lips pucker. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…um, Master?” With his face squeezed, the word came out more like

mashter

Derek suppressed a smile. “That’s a bit much.

Sir

will suffice.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Never touch me unless I touch you first.”

“Yes, Sir.”

God, how he wanted to kiss those luscious, rounded lips. But in exerting authority,

Derek had come to learn that discipline started with restricting one’s own passions.

“Good,” he said, releasing his grip on Blue’s face and patting him on one cheek. Their

mouths still near, Blue’s breath smelled of orange soda. Braced on his elbow, Derek released

Blue’s wrists. He trailed his hand down one willowy limb to where the shirt lay open. His

fingers lit on a nipple, which instantly pebbled at his touch. He pinched. Blue hissed, arching

his throat, but otherwise remained in place, his wrists now crossed above his head of his own

accord.

Derek pinched harder, and the boy groaned.

“You like that?” Derek asked in a gruff whisper.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His fingers twisted. Blue grimaced, his expression somewhere between

pleasure and agony.

“

Sir. Yes, Sir

.”

Derek chuckled softly. “You learn fast.”

He began unbuttoning the rest of the shirt, trailing his fingertips between each

buttonhole with a featherweight caress. He thrilled in the taut feel of the boy’s abdomen, so

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flat it was nearly concave. Derek would have to feed him right, fill him out, but not too

much.

Following the scant trail of hair, he stopped to tease around the silver navel ring, before

drifting to the thatch of dark blond curls. Grabbing a few hairs, he gave a sharp, quick tug.

Blue hissed again, eyes closed, then exhaled with a tiny sigh.

“You like it to hurt, don’t you?” Derek asked, his voice low and steady.

“Yes, Sir. A little.”

Derek concealed his delight. He’d not only found a submissive, but it appeared he had a

pain slut on his hands, an untrained one in need of a proper master with a sure, strong hand.

Intrigued, he rolled off Blue and leaned on his side. “Spread your legs.”

Blue bent his knees and parted his thighs. Derek freed the last button and pulled the

shirt aside.

During the bath, Blue had been flaccid, and Derek had tried not to look too closely.

Now, he fully drank in the sight of the beautifully erect cock, basking in the triumph that a

man his age could have such an effect on this young boy’s libido. Foregoing temptation,

Derek avoided grasping the long, rigid shaft and slid his hand instead to the base beneath

Blue’s prick. He squeezed the fleshy sacs, and then rubbed the perineum -- the

taint

, as some

called it -- and the best kept secret of the experienced gay male. Blue’s prick twitched in

response, the rounded head of the glans brushing his navel ring.

“Have you ever been touched here?” Derek asked.

“No,” the boy answered with a strangled gasp.

Derek smacked him there. Blue’s stomach heaved, and his balls quivered. He cried out.

“No, what?” asked Derek.

“Huh?”

Derek smacked again, harder, the slap echoing through the loft. “Same rule applies to

as it does to

yes

.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“No, Sir. Sorry, I was distracted. I was -- ouch! Oh, God…”

Derek had slid his middle finger to the lowest knuckle inside Blue. Tight and hot, the

boy’s muscles sheathed him like the finger of a glove.

Blue bit his lip and buried his face into the crook of his arm, his body gone stiff.

Reading the boy’s signs, Derek contained his excitement.

Could it be?

He eased his finger out. At the moment when Blue appeared relieved, he thrust back

inside, this time with two fingers.

“Are you a virgin, Blue?”

Blue grunted, his teeth clenched. “No…

ow!

Sir! No, Sir! I’ve given handjobs,

blowjobs…” His cheeks went red, and he burrowed his face deeper into his arm, evading

Derek’s gaze.

Derek crooked his fingers in a

come-hither

motion, feeling through the wall of the

canal, finding the cleft between the spongy nubs of the prostate as he pressed the pad of his

thumb into the taint. “The truth, Blue,” he commanded softly. “And don’t hide your face

from me.”

“I’ve tried it, once,” Blue sighed, turning his head back, his frown lightening at the hint

of pleasure. “But it hurt too much, and --” He gasped, and his cock twitched as Derek

increased the friction. “The other guy couldn’t…couldn’t get it…in all the way.”

“Ah, I see.” In his younger days, Derek’s own experiences on the receiving end had

been much the same; one reason he preferred to give rather than take. And because he’d

been hurt, he’d taken care to learn how to give properly and make it equally pleasurable for

his partner. Bearing this in mind, he continued flexing his fingers while applying

intermittent pressure with his thumb.

Blue angled his head back, his eyes glazing over, his throat stretched enticingly taut.

He wriggled his hips and spread his legs wider, his body now seeking to accommodate

Derek’s touch. As the boy’s jaw went slack, Derek noted the silver stud in his tongue.

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Yes, he had indeed found someone willing to test his physical limits. He inserted a

third finger. Blue grunted and thrashed his head back, and yet still, he held his wrists

together.

“Does that hurt?” Derek asked.

“A little, Sir, but it…it also feels good. Oh, God…”

A drop of fluid seeped from the opening of Blue’s glans. Derek’s touch was deft enough

to milk his partner of their load without allowing the contractions of actual orgasm. But

Derek wouldn’t be quite so cruel, at least not today.

Yes, there was a difference between controlled sadism and outright cruelty. Like what

had happened to him, the night he’d been drugged. And what would have befallen Blue at

the hands of that same monster, if Derek hadn’t stepped in and saved him.

A flash of memory threatened to break through the protective barrier of his drug-

induced amnesia. The muscles around his throat went tight, as constrictive as the belt that

had been strapped against his windpipe…

Derek retrieved his hand and stood. “Go to the bathroom,” he snapped.

He strode outside to the deck, shutting the door behind him, rattling the glass panes.

Reaching into his pocket, he found the single cigarette broken. Annoyed, he dropped the

pieces into the ashtray on the mosaic patio table. Pulling the fresh pack from his other

pocket, he crossed the concrete deck and leaned against the stucco balustrade. As he tapped

the bottom of the pack against his palm, he stared fifteen stories down at the cars, crawling

through the maze of the streets like ants.

“Get a grip,” he scolded himself under his breath. The tobacco packed, he tore the

wrapper open and took out a cigarette with his teeth. As he lit up, he willed his hands to stop

trembling.

For the past few years, he’d been searching for the ideal “prisoner”. With each

encounter, he’d pushed the boundaries more, tying the knots tighter, lashing the whip

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

harder, holding his partners captive for longer stretches at a time. He’d gone so far as to

break the last one down and make him cry, begging and pleading to be released and taken

home. It had aroused Derek beyond all sensation, watching the boy’s tears well down his

cheeks, relishing the knowledge that, if he’d been so inclined, he’d held the power to keep

his captive tied up, perpetually at his mercy.

Then three weeks ago he’d experienced, first hand, what happened when one partner

took all the power. Now that power had been granted back to Derek in the form of the

perfect hostage -- one who’d ironically been targeted by the same perpetrator -- and handed

to him like a gift from above.

Old feelings of guilt returned, coupled with the hazy memory of what he’d unwittingly

suffered at the hands of the monster who now lay unconscious in a hospital bed. Derek

wondered if, beneath the veneer of

controlled sadism

, he held his own monster at bay.

The door clicked. Derek turned to see Blue step out onto the deck, the shirt buttoned

back up halfway.

“I can’t go the bathroom like this,” he sulked. His stiff-legged gait and sullen pout

bespoke the denial of his release. He eased his rump down on one of the patio chairs, then

spread his knees, hands braced on the chair seat, holding the lower hem of the shirt in place.

His eyes sparked in anger and defiance. To Derek, it was sheer seduction.

His guilt quickly dispelled, he reached Blue in a few easy strides, unbuckling his belt on

the way.

Standing before Blue, he freed the button of his jeans. “Unzip me,” he muttered,

cigarette dangling from his lips. He gently smacked Blue’s hand away. “With your teeth.”

Blue peered up at him, sly and bedeviling, and obediently took the tab of the zipper

between his teeth. His gaze fixed on Derek’s, he lowered his face, the suggestive slide of

metal whispering its promise of pleasure until Derek’s cock sprang free. Blue’s eyes widened,

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his confident sneer faltering at the tangible evidence of Derek’s arousal. He licked his lips

nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said, grasping the base of his cock to better display its length and

girth. Stretching his other arm, he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

Reaching toward Blue, he seized a fistful of cobalt strands and jerked the boy’s head back. “In

time, you’ll learn just how I like it.”

He slid past those pouty lips, prying Blue’s mouth wide. He enjoyed a first of his own,

thrilling in the feel of the metal stud in his partner’s tongue as it traced up the engorged vein

of his shaft, then circled roughly around the head before sliding back down.

Blue was good, but Derek knew he could do better. If anything, the boy’s lack of skills

just made him all the more malleable.

“Suck…harder,” he gasped. Through the wisps of his hair, he looked down and relished

the sight of his cock glistening with spit as he pistoned back and forth, his girth filling and

stretching Blue’s mouth. His charge peered back up at him in earnest, seeking his approval.

Derek leered down at him and thrust faster, enjoying the delicious friction, the core of his

pleasure tightening with each movement.

As much as the physical pleasure, he equally derived enjoyment in forcing Blue to keep

up, gloating at the way the boy hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder with every spit-

slicked thrust. He found a certain cruel pleasure in the muffled moans that escaped Blue’s

throat as he struggled to please him. Tightening his grip, he tilted Blue’s head back farther

and nudged the back of his mouth. When Blue gagged and winced, his eyes watering, Derek

eased back, just a bit.

In that moment, he knew he was no monster, that he would never be like the sick

bastard he’d left beaten in the alleyway. He knew where to draw the line.

Derek let himself go, the tension inside of him bursting like an opened floodgate.

Locking his knees, he barely faltered as the orgasm rippled through him in long, delicious

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

waves. With each contraction, he emitted a low, guttural groan. Blue matched him,

swallowing each burst of cum with a loud gulp, the muscles of his throat teasing at the tip of

Derek’s prick and milking him dry.

Derek pulled away. Catching his breath, he smiled down at Blue, just a little, to show

his approval. With the nub of his thumb, he wiped one stray drop of fluid from the corner of

Blue’s mouth and traced it across Blue’s lower lip. To his satisfaction, Blue rubbed his mouth

back the other way and flicked his tongue, greedily licking the last drop away.

Yes, his new submissive had done well. But now it was time to show Blue he meant

business.

“Get back inside,” he ordered, stepping back, buckling his belt. “I have something more

in mind for you.”

Katrina Strauss

Chapter Four

Blue’s spine ached, and his knees fared no better. Yet with his bare rump tipped in the

air, and his balls hanging in plain sight of Derek’s scrutiny, his hard-on raged right along

with his discomfort.

Sleeves rolled, he squeezed the natural sea sponge in a bucket of warm water mixed

with pH-balanced detergent. With a smooth swirling motion, he wet the next few tiles of

travertine. Crawling, he returned to the patch of kitchen floor he’d soaked a few minutes

earlier.

He paused and peeked across the loft at Derek. The other man reclined on the cream

leather sofa with one arm across the back, one leg propped on the black-lacquered coffee

table. Derek had pulled his hair back in a slipshod half ponytail to keep his bangs out of his

face while he worked, but a few stray strands had slipped loose. With a single hand, his

fingers rapidly skimmed the keyboard of his laptop. His nonchalant pose, combined with his

frown of concentration and the cold cigarette pursed between his lips, made for a sexy effect,

one that left Blue entertaining rebellious thoughts of pouncing the boss and ripping his

sweater clean off.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“Stop daydreaming,” Derek scolded without looking up, still typing. He was an at-home

software programmer, he’d explained to Blue, and he had a deadline to meet for a contract.

He’d also advised Blue that the floors better be done by the time he finished, or there’d be no

dinner.

Blue bit back a sigh and ignored his growling stomach, which nagged at him almost as

much as his agonizing erection. He reminded himself that he’d offered to do housework for a

man with special-maintenance stone floors where Mop & Glo just wouldn’t cut it.

Soft-bristle brush in hand, he went back to scrubbing the wet tiles. Satisfied they were

clean, he retrieved the sponge from the second bucket, this one with plain water, and rinsed.

When no soap residue remained, he grabbed the linen tea towel crumpled nearby and buffed

the tiles dry.

His knees throbbing in protest, Blue crawled back around the most recently wetted

section of floor and repeated the cycle, soaking the next patch for a few minutes while he

scrubbed the one before it and then buffed it dry.

Resting a moment, he perched back on his haunches and stretched his arms upward.

Fingers locked, his knuckles popped loudly. Through his bangs, he cast a surreptitious glance

at Derek.

The other man’s typing tapered off as he studied Blue’s stretched form with a

smoldering look of lust. Blue met his gaze and offered a wicked smirk. Derek quickly

returned his attentions to his laptop. He cursed under his breath and hit the keyboard with

several loud, rapid clicks.

Repeat strikes against the backspace key, Blue presumed.

Gotcha

, he thought in smug

triumph.

Another half hour passed. As he rubbed the last of the squares dry, he noticed he’d

gotten so caught up in his task, his cock had relaxed to a near-flaccid state.

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What a relief

, he thought to himself, wiping his forehead where his bangs had grown

damp with sweat. He’d begun to worry his balls might go as blue as his hair.

He jumped, startled, at the door buzzer.

“Dinner’s here,” Derek announced, setting the laptop aside and rising from the sofa.

“When did you order dinner?” Blue asked.

“While ago, over the Net. There’s an all-night Thai place down the street.” Derek

paused midway to the intercom speaker and inspected the floor. “Good job.”

Extending one arm, Derek took Blue’s hand and helped him up. As he pulled himself to

standing, Blue purposely overcompensated and fell against Derek’s broad, firm chest. He

wanted to kiss Derek, to trail his lips where the neck of his sweater exposed his collarbone,

while wrapping his arms about the other man’s narrow waist, but remembered the rule about

touching. Instead, he sighed and rested his head, listening to Derek’s heartbeat, finding a

certain relief in the knowledge that he need not worry, as he had with previous partners, if

his caresses proved too awkward or unskilled. He had only to do as he was told.

A hand slid down to massage his buttocks. One finger teased at his opening. Blue’s cock

sprang back up, instantly lengthening to full mast.

“I see you’re learning to crave my touch there already,” Derek said into his hair, the

smirk evident in his voice. He patted Blue on the rump and nudged him away. “Go wash up

for dinner.”

Blue frowned and cursed to himself, pressing a hand to his tailbone as he limped to the

bathroom. Derek addressed the delivery person over the intercom. “Yeah, bring it on up.

Take the service elevator. Fifteenth floor.”

After Blue had calmed down enough to manage to use the toilet, he walked to the sink

to wash his hands. Braced against the countertop, he winced at his reflection in the mirror as

his swollen prick brushed the counter’s edge. He turned on the water in the brown granite

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

sink and lathered his hands with lavender soap. His hands slick, he considered jacking off,

suspecting he’d come in under two minutes flat.

Somehow, he knew that would be breaking a rule. And really, when he finally did get

to come, he wanted it to be with Derek’s assistance, as he suspected Derek would prove quite

skillful at helping him along.

His hands dried, he turned around, propping his ass against the counter, and took a

better look at the room. So this was where Derek had bathed him. He studied the sunken

marble tub, set in the corner, the surrounding walls and platform lined with more travertine,

the diamond-cut tiles smaller and smoother than those of the kitchen. Opposite the tub stood

an enclosed, rather sizeable shower stall.

In the back of his mind, Blue heard the low, steady hiss of a shower nozzle. He

shivered at a memory long repressed, and wrapped his arms around himself, his flesh

suddenly gone chill. He quickly returned his attentions to the tub. In sharp contrast to the

memory elicited by the sight of the shower, Blue tried to envision Derek undressing him, his

limbs limp from drugs and his clothes stinking of vomit, and then Derek easing him into the

water, bathing him, caring for him. Why couldn’t he remember something nice, like

that?

He stood straight and decided to open the door before Derek got suspicious and

wondered what he was doing. At the scent of food, his mouth watered, his arousal quickly

displaced by hunger.

* * * * *

Blue knelt at Derek’s feet. Parting his lips, he accepted another bite of the Thai takeout.

With deft precision, Derek aimed the chopsticks and deposited a sliver of chicken curry in

his mouth.

While he loved other types of Asian cuisine, Blue was not used to such spicy fare.

Wishing to impress his patron, he chewed and swallowed, his throat burning, his eyes

watering, but without complaint. No need for him to come off like the uncouth suburban kid

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that a high-class dude like Derek surely thought him to be. He was intimidated enough after

watching Derek pop a couple of raw

prig hang

peppers into his mouth and eat them as if they

were candy.

And maybe, if he was a good boy and finished his food, Derek would let him get off.

Blue opened his mouth for a bite of Pad Thai and slurped up the rice stick noodles. The

oil-coated noodles made for ease in swallowing, but seconds later, his throat was positively

on fire. Derek dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“You know,” said Derek, “native Thai use forks and spoons.”

Really

, Blue started to say, but the word caught at his scorched larynx. He cleared his

throat. “Really?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” Derek said. “But Westerners like the novelty of eating Asian food with

chopsticks, so most Thai restaurants here provide them anyway.” He grinned, and popped

another pepper into his mouth. On the crunch, he cocked a taunting eyebrow at Blue. “Want

to try one?”

Blue shook his head. “

Soda

,” he croaked, nodding toward the orange can next to the

glass of milk on the end table. “Please,” he added at Derek’s stern glare.

Derek went for the milk instead. “This will soothe your throat better,” he explained.

Blue blushed, shamefaced, as Derek cupped his chin and pressed the glass to his lips. He

tilted his head back and drank. He wondered why, if he were the submissive, the other man

seemed to enjoy feeding him. On one hand, he supposed it made him appear helpless and at

Derek’s mercy. Yet on the other, he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of being pampered.

It dawned on him.

It’s like I’m his pet

. After fending for himself on the streets the past

few months, he found the concept of being cared for appealing.

On unspoken cue, Derek reached down and stroked Blue’s hair. “Your roots are

showing,” he commented, “but your streak is white at the scalp.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Blue swallowed the last of the milk, his throat still tingling. “

Poliosis

,” he explained.

“When I was born, that patch of hair didn’t have any pigment.”

“So it’s like an albino birthmark?” Derek asked, twining the inch-wide streak through

his fingertips.

“Yeah. Whenever I touch up my hair, my streak’s a pale blue for a few days. I tried

black once, and my streak turned gray. Then I tried burgundy, and my streak went pink.”

“And to think” -- Derek smiled -- “some people pay to have this done.”

Blue looked down at his hands in his lap. “When I was a kid, I got teased for it. That,

and I was always shorter and skinnier than everyone else.”

Feeling the old hurt and anger threaten to surface, he quickly pushed it back. The

countless bloody noses he’d come home with during grade school had healed, but when it

came to the harsh words and the alienation he’d endured, the scars remained.

He looked back up at Derek and shrugged. “By high school, I’d fallen into the

underground scene. Being a little different turned out okay.”

So if it had real y been okay why the fuck had his voice just cracked and his vision

blurred?

“Come here,” Derek said gently. He pulled Blue up onto his lap. “Who hurt you?”

Blue hadn’t meant to start crying, but at Derek’s touch, the tears spilled freely, and

with them, the words. “There was this one guy who beat me up all the time, starting in fifth

grade, up until freshman year. He was the first person who ever called me

faggot

. I

remember hating him for it, but in a weird way, I was also grateful, because he was the first

person to put some kind of name to the confusion I felt inside.” He peered up from where he

pressed his head against Derek’s chest. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes complete sense.” With the pad of his thumb, Derek brushed away one tear.

“And it takes one to know one. I’d bet he was a closet case himself.”

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Blue considered this. “You think so? I mean, he was so buff, a total jock. He dated the

head cheerleader.”

“So?” Derek shrugged. “I guarantee, he’ll turn up in Oakwood one of these days. Maybe

after he’s married with two point five kids, but he’ll turn up.”

“I guess that explains how fucked up things were with him toward the end. I…it’s hard

to explain, but --”

“You had a crush on him.”

Blue kept his jaw from dropping. Embarrassed, exposed, he burrowed his face back

against his confessor. “I’ve never told anyone this but…my first wet dream was about him. It

was like my hatred for him got mixed up with this…this fucked-up

desire

, and I…God, it’s

insane, but…”

“You had more dreams.”

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Really twisted ones.”

Derek shifted his legs beneath Blue’s ass and cradled him closer. In turn, Blue melted

fully against him.

The words rumbled from Derek’s chest. “You said he stopped hurting you Freshman

year.”

“Yeah. I decided I’d had enough. I mean, he was going to kick my ass anyway, no

matter what I said or did. So I got this brilliant idea of

flirting

with him, to purposely

provoke his anger, because it was the only way I could think of to get back at the asshole.

And that’s when he stopped.”

“Did you become friends?” Derek asked, an odd, strained tone to his question, one Blue

swore bordered on jealousy.

“No,” said Blue, thinking back on that first peaceful year. “He went from one extreme

to the other, from tormenting me daily to flat out ignoring me, like I didn’t even exist. Then

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

junior year, he broke his leg playing football. He was in the hospital for a while, and he

never came back to school.”

Derek seemed unfazed by this revelation. “I suspect he had a crush on you, too, only he

expressed his shame and confusion with his fists.” He tilted Blue’s chin and looked down at

him with what might have been affection if not for the desire burning behind his eyes.

“These dreams you had about him…did they involve him hurting you?”

Blue felt his cheeks go warm, and his tears flowed anew. God, he felt like such a baby,

but it really did feel good to release the hurt and confusion he’d pent up inside for the past

several years. And maybe, if Derek felt sorry for him, he’d offer him release in other ways.

“Yeah,” he admitted, snuggling closer, if that was possible, taking charge of his

emotions while turning on the puppy dog eyes. “I never understood. Why would I get turned

on by that? And with him?”

“I’d say it was a way for you to cope. By turning what he did to you into a pleasurable

fantasy, you took back the power he had stolen from you.”

“Really? Is that what I was doing?” Blue murmured, but for the first time, he realized

his long-repressed fantasies made for some sort of strange and twisted logic.

He gasped as one hand twined through his hair and the other slid between his thighs.

“I can do those things to you, Blue,” Derek whispered into his ear, cupping his balls. Hot

breath puffed pleasantly down his throat. “I can make it all better.”

Their lips met. Blue had already sucked Derek’s cock, tasted and swallowed his cum,

yet now, at last, Derek meant to kiss him. Blue readily accepted, parting his lips, darting his

tongue, hoping his skills didn’t prove too inept, but Derek evaded him, sucking instead on his

lower lip. Blue sighed, flinching slightly as Derek nipped down. Then Derek’s tongue filled

his mouth, pushing his own tongue back, possessing him, claiming him. Blue relaxed and

surrendered, going pliant in Derek’s arms, finding comfort once more in the fact that he need

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not reciprocate, only succumb. As the kiss deepened, Blue’s mouth went warm, then hot.

With a gasp, he pulled away. He licked his lips curiously at the sting.

“Peppers,” he murmured.

Derek’s green eyes sparked. Reaching for the white foam tray beside him, he placed

another pepper in his mouth and crunched down. He pulled Blue back by the hair, then

opened the remaining shirt buttons. As the sleeves draped down Blue’s shoulders, Derek

lowered his face and darted his tongue across one nipple. Blue inhaled sharply at the sudden

stinging sensation on the sensitive pink flesh. Arching his spine, he cried out as his other

nipple received the same treatment.

His nipples burning, he listened as Derek crunched the pepper again, watched as Derek

sucked his middle finger into his mouth. Before Blue could protest, Derek had slipped his

hand in the crevice of his ass and plunged his peppered finger inside.

At the first sting, Blue struggled to get away, but Derek’s grip remained firm. As the

pepper juice warmed, and then intensified, the sensation felt both pleasant and torturous at

once, making Blue more aware of that single part of his body than ever before.

Derek’s other hand lit on his cock and began stroking. Despite his discomfort, Blue

found himself grinding down against the heel of Derek’s palm, welcoming the burn, realizing

it enhanced the pleasant feel of the grip upon his cock.

Derek’s hand drifted up with an expert, silken glide, then gripped harshly on the

downstroke. The older man’s hand squeezed the base of the boy’s cock without moving. Blue

gasped. Derek and Blue pressed their foreheads together; they both stared down at Blue’s

prick, watching it purple and swell.

“Do you want to come?” Derek asked coolly.

“Yes,” Blue pled with a strangled groan.

The grip on his balls tightened, denying his release. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir…please…”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Derek eased his grip and stroked Blue with a rhythmic flurry. As Blue neared the

brink, his inner muscles gripped Derek’s finger, sending another sizzling rush of heat. The

tension coiled in his gut sprang loose, and with it came the violent spasm of release all over

his thighs. He cried out, then collapsed against Derek, trembling, panting, on the verge of

tears all over again.

“Thank you, Sir,” he murmured, truly grateful.

“My pleasure.” Derek smiled against Blue’s scalp. He eased his finger free. With the

other hand, he dabbed Blue’s thighs clean with a napkin. He crumpled the paper and tossed

it aside, then reached toward the end table and dipped his fingers in the milk. Returning to

Blue’s entrance, he gently traced the outer ring, the milk soothing there, the sting still

lingering inside.

“Do you want me to…do anything for you?” Blue asked, hesitant, wondering how on

earth he could reciprocate such a mind-shattering orgasm.

“You can return the favor later,” Derek said, lightly tapping his hole, “when I take this

tight little ass of yours.”

Blue muttered something incoherent and noncommittal in response. Weak from the

orgasm, exhausted from scrubbing the floors, he coasted down as the burn from the

prig

hang

receded. Derek eased his palms under Blue’s thighs.

“Wrap around me,” he instructed.

Blue slid his arms around Derek’s shoulders and clung to the back of his sweater. Derek

stood, supporting him with strong, sure arms, and walked across the loft to the bed. He

deposited Blue gently, then stretched out beside him. Blue drew up his knees and curled his

backside against Derek’s torso. They spooned that way for a while, with Derek stroking

Blue’s hair, caressing his shoulder.

“Sleep now,” he murmured in Blue’s ear. “I have plans for you later.”

“What else is there to clean around here?” Blue mumbled. “Sir,” he quickly added.

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Derek lips curved against the nape of his neck. “Trust me, it’s nothing that involves

housework.” The bedsprings creaked as Derek shifted and rose. He patted Blue on the hip.

“Go to sleep.”

Blue heard the balcony doors open, felt the crisp tinge of predawn air waft into the

room. He identified the recognizable clink of Derek’s butane lighter.

“Smoking’s bad for you,” he mumbled.

“Lots of things are bad for you,” Derek said before shutting the doors, a light hint of

smoke lingering in his wake.

Blue wrinkled his nose and turned his face into the soft down pillow. For the first time

since he’d left home, he enjoyed the luxury of drifting to sleep in a comfortable bed.

And, for the first time in years, he did so feeling wanted and cared for.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Chapter Five

The sheets smelled of sweat, lube, and cum. Blindfolded, Blue moaned into the pillow,

kneeling in supplication, spine bowed, throat arched. With his wrists bound to his ankles, his

feet braced apart by a steel spreader bar, he found the sheer vulnerability of his position both

humiliating and arousing.

Only two days ago -- or had it been three? -- he’d never grasped why, outside of

enticing visual imagery, spanking could prove so erotic on the submissive end; nor had he

comprehended how pain could become a source of pleasure. But now, he was beginning to

understand. Yes, his master had taught him a great deal in such a short time.

“More?” Derek asked.

With his mouth gagged, words were useless. Instead, Blue flashed the number one with

his left hand. Dipping his spine, he tilted his rump. He could take the pain and, in fact,

wanted it. With bated breath, he listened for the distinctive sound of the riding crop as it

sliced through the air, readied himself for the crisp snap of leather upon bared flesh. On

impact, the

crack

echoed throughout the loft.

Derek treated him to several rapid smacks in successions, first on one cheek, then the

other. As Blue took his punishment, he tried to remember what Derek had taught him -- to

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relax rather than tense his buttocks when the tongue cracked down on his skin. When he

relaxed, the kiss of the crop proved less painful, his muscles better absorbing the shock,

which then dissipated into a strange, soothing warmth.

Yet at the same time, it felt good when he resisted and his inner muscles clenched the

silicon plug inserted into his ass. A size larger than the plug Derek had used the day before,

Blue found his entrance accommodating, even welcoming, its length and girth.

When the sting began to smart, he flashed two fingers. Derek eased up, focusing his

attention on the meat of Blue’s thighs, taking his time between lashes, leaving Blue to

wonder where he’d strike next. When he thought his skin might crack, Blue flashed

three

Derek immediately ceased whipping him. He rubbed the tongue of the crop against the

spot between his balls and his ass. Blue wriggled his hips and pushed back to better meet the

crop and enjoy the massage. Just as he’d succumbed to the pleasant sensation, emitting a

telltale moan of pleasure, Derek thwacked him there once. Blue bit into his gag and yelped in

protest. Derek chuckled softly, then transferred the crop to the base of the plug and tapped

the crop there, sending tiny shocks through the silicon, the reverberations hitting Blue

somewhere deep inside.

Gently, Derek pulled the plug free, the suction of its exit making for an equally

pleasurable sensation as it had upon insertion, yet leaving an empty ache in its place. As his

entrance quivered, begging to be filled once more, Blue wondered if Derek finally intended

to fuck him.

At this point, Blue had lost count of the number of times, and the number of ways, that

Derek had brought him to climax, using fingers, hands, mouth, and toys. Tormented with

pleasure, rewarded with pain, the two sensations had melded and blurred until Blue could no

longer tell one from the other. He only knew that he welcomed his master’s touch in any

form or fashion.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

In turn, Blue had been allowed to reciprocate a few times. Challenged by his master’s

ability to hold out from coming, his strokes had grown more sure and swift, his throat able to

take Derek’s cock a little deeper each time. But in those three days -- yes, Blue was certain

now that it had been three -- Derek had yet to fuck him. The anticipation set Blue’s nerves

on edge, leaving him to wonder, each and every minute, when and how his master would

eventually take him.

An exotic scent of spice filled the air. Blue sniffed, detecting an underlying hint of

menthol. Derek’s fingers eased across his buttocks, applying the balm to his flesh. Instantly,

Blue’s skin cooled, though the bruises beneath proved tender.

As a child, Blue had often been beaten with a belt, his father’s preferred method of

discipline. And he’d suffered plenty of beatings at the hands of his schoolyard tormentor.

He’d never been strong enough physically to fight back, and so instead, he’d learned to take

his punches and play the stoic. He’d never given anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

He’d simply gone off somewhere alone to nurse his wounds.

Never had there been another to console and comfort him afterward, as Derek did

now, as Derek had done after every whipping these past three days and nights. At the

thought, tears seeped from beneath Blue’s blindfold. On first instinct, he turned his face into

the pillow to hide his tears and muffle his sobs.

Then again, he considered that Derek seemed big on the whole comfort thing. And he

swore Derek’s arousal intensified whenever he cried. With a dramatic heave of his shoulders,

he yelled out from behind the ball gag, all for Derek’s benefit. But really, it felt good to just

let it out, to release the pain and the hurt that he’d held back for most of his life.

“

Shhh

,” Derek soothed, sliding his palms around Blue’s waist, pressing his chest against

Blue’s backside, bare and sweating flesh upon flesh. With triumph, he noticed the rigid

length crushed against his ass. How interesting that in simply kneeling there, bound and

helpless, he could get his partner so worked up.

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Balm-slicked fingers tweaked one nipple while the other hand fondled his cock. Where

the balm had cooled his buttocks, it caused his more sensitive flesh to tingle and warm. As

the sensation bordered on burning, it soaked deeper into his flesh and made for a numbing

effect.

Blue reminded himself not to smile as another sob welled up and quaked through his

body. He was bound and determined to get fucked -- tonight, today, whatever time it was

now.

“It’s all right,” his master whispered, pressing his lips to the nape of Blue’s neck. “Let

me make it all better.” The hot, wet dart of Derek’s tongue flicked down his spine, the silken

strands of Derek’s mane poring over him and tickling his ribs.

Derek stopped at his tailbone, hovering there. A trail of warm saliva dripped down the

crevice of his ass, refreshing the moisture of the lube. As Derek lifted his head, the ends of

his hair tickled up Blue’s thighs, followed by something hard and bulbous nudging at Blue’s

entrance. As both of Derek’s hands gripped him by the hips, Blue knew that this time, his

partner wasn’t inserting an artificial phallus.

Oh, God, they were really going to do it

. This time they weren’t going to stop, to eat a

quick meal or catch a few hours sleep, or allow Blue a moment alone in the bathroom. His

stomach fluttered, excitement mingled with trepidation.

One palm slid up Blue’s back and pressed between his shoulder blades, causing his

spine to arch more. “Stick that sweet little ass of yours up,” his master instructed. As Blue

complied, he felt pressure against his anus.

“Relax,” Derek told him, gripping the globes of his ass, thumbing his entrance wide.

“Feel yourself open to me. Yes, like that --” His instructions were cut off with a

gasp

, and his

grip tightened. “Blue,” he murmured, his voice bordering on a growl. “I’ve taken my time to

get you ready, but once I’m inside you, I won’t hold back.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Blue whimpered in acquiescence, his sphincter stretched tight around the first few

inches of Derek’s shaft. Yet the discomfort bordered on pleasure, his excitement mounting.

Encouraged, Blue pushed back, just a little.

He heard a sharp hiss, felt Derek claw his buttocks and jerk him back. A bolt of fiery

pain seared through his lower abdomen. His breath left him, his body bucked and reared, but

Derek held him firm. Their balls slapped together, and Blue knew he’d swallowed Derek’s

cock to the hilt. And now his master was thrusting relentlessly, stretching him, filling him,

and there was no turning back.

Blue tilted his hips back up, willing his muscles to open, ignoring the discomfort and

instead focusing on the hard knot of pleasure building in the pit of his groin. Derek’s thrusts

quickened in pace, and his grunts grew shorter and deeper, falling in time with the sharper,

high-pitched mewls emitted from behind the ball gag. Initially embarrassed by the sounds

that escaped him in the heat of pleasure, Blue had learned Derek quite enjoyed hearing

them, while the ball gag freed him to be as vocal as he desired without disturbing the

neighbors. As their song of passion merged, so did Blue’s pleasure and pain.

As Blue neared climax, Derek abruptly pulled out. Hovering on the edge of release,

aching for Derek’s cock, he wondered why they’d stopped.

Had Derek come?

In answer, Derek unclasped Blue’s wrists and freed his ankles, followed by the sound of

the spreader bar clattering to the floor.

Derek rolled him onto his back. With quick, deft movements, Blue’s wrists were

chained to the headboard. Derek pushed Blue’s knees back to either side of his head and,

without warning, plunged back in. Blue gasped from the second invasion, yet his body

yielded, and where there had been resistance, now there was only pleasure.

Derek tugged off the blindfold. Blue squinted, seeing that it was daytime, late

afternoon by the looks of it. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the hollow of his

arm.

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“Look at me,” Derek commanded through bared teeth, his words punctuated with

quick, sharp thrusts. “I want to see your face when you come.”

Through hooded gaze, Blue watched the man braced above him. Biceps taut, chest

flexed tight, Derek’s torso glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. As he slammed his pelvis

against Blue’s ass, his hair fell into his face and flowed with his movements. His green eyes

went dark, his porcelain features mantled with the heat of sex. Blue marveled that he could

reduce this suave, sophisticated man to such a primal, barbaric state. He realized, in that

moment, he held as much power over his master as the master held over him.

When Derek’s hand wrapped around Blue’s cock, he was done for. He threw his head

back, his teeth clenched against the rubber ball. Hot drops of cum splattered on his belly, his

chest, the pillows, while his muscles gripped Derek of their own accord.

At that same moment, Derek’s frame went rigid. He shoved Blue hard against him and

held him there. His breath came in shallow pants, followed by a long, low groan. He

collapsed, his weight pressing them both into the mattress. Coasting down from the peak,

Blue wondered if the rapid thump against his chest was Derek’s heart or his own.

Languidly, his master reached behind his head and freed the gag. Tossing it aside,

Derek then reached up and fumbled at the wrist cuffs. His hands free, Blue started to stroke

the other man’s hair, then paused.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured.

Freely, he combed his master’s luxurious mane, thrilling in its silken glide as it

whispered through his fingers. Gradually, their shared heartbeat slowed, but the heat

between them still burned. Derek twisted him around and shifted their positions, never

leaving him, until they lay in a spooning position.

Derek curled around him, his lips pressed against Blue’s scalp. “Did I hurt you too

much?” he asked quietly.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“No,” Blue murmured. “It felt good.” He dozed into a state of half sleep, lulled by the

rhythmic sound of his partner’s breath against his ear.

At some point, he woke to find the room gone dark, and Derek, still inside of him,

grown hard again. Blue ground back against the other man. Derek greeted him with a grunt

and met his movements, pumping into him slow and easy. He planted the palm of one hand

against Blue’s chest, the other working Blue’s cock, and increased the tempo.

The next orgasm was longer, savored, but no less intense.

“What time is it?” Blue yawned, his energy truly spent. The clock was useless, as Derek

had unplugged it somewhere along the way after catching him peeking.

“I don’t know,” Derek muttered. “I’m not even sure what day it is.”

Blue smiled. So Derek had lost track, too. He squirmed and nestled his ass closer against

his master. In those strong, sure arms, he felt safe and warm against the cold, ugly world

outside.

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Chapter Six

Eyes closed, Derek stretched his arm across the mattress, the sheets still warm. He sat

up with a start, momentarily disoriented, then shook his head, chiding himself as he spied

the light under the crack of the bathroom door. For years, he had slept alone. Now, after just

a few nights, he found himself reduced to this pathetic state of dependence.

Braced on one elbow, his eyes adjusting in the dark, he smoothed his disheveled hair

back with one hand, wondering at its uncharacteristically oily sheen. Neat, tidy, and

organized, to the point where some had accused of him being neurotic, Derek had rather

enjoyed the sinful indulgence of unplugging the clock and shutting down the computer the

past few days. He’d put aside work, forgotten the man in the hospital, and lived only for the

pleasures of food, sleep, and sex. How decadent now, afterward, to lounge naked in satin

sheets, the bed reeking of sex and sweat, stained by the evidence of various deeds he’d

committed with his tender but willing captive.

He heard the toilet flush. Moments later, the door creaked, then stopped. Derek waited

a moment. When Blue didn’t emerge, he slid out from under the covers and into his black

silk robe. Tying the sash loosely, he made his way to the bathroom and then peeked through

the crack in the door.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Blue stood, his back to the marble-top vanity, peering over his shoulder at his

reflection in the mirror. With one fingertip, he touched one of the bruises that mottled his

buttocks. He winced, and Derek winced with him, experiencing a momentary flash of guilt

even as his cock swelled. Of course, he’d expected there would be some bruising, but he’d

applied the balm afterward to lessen the effects.

And then Blue smiled, a sly, wicked smile, and he tested another bruise. He winced

again, still smiling, while his cock stirred and hardened partway.

Derek pushed the door open and stepped into the bathroom. Blue’s head jerked, his

expression calling to mind a youngster caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Sir, I was just, um --”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, coming to stand in front of him. He twined one hand in Blue’s

hair and turned his head aside. He nodded toward the reflection of Blue’s backside. “Let’s

look together.”

Their eyes met in the mirror and together, their gaze swept down Blue’s lithe, lean

form to the curve of his ass. Tenderly, Derek rubbed one cheek, then the other. He

murmured in Blue’s ear.

“What were you thinking about, right before I came in?”

Blue licked his lips. “That you’d left your mark on me, Sir. And that I liked it.”

“Liked

what

about it, exactly?” Derek asked, his curiosity genuine. He’d never kept

anyone around long enough to explore the after-effects of a particularly intense session.

Blue considered him in the mirror before answering. “I like that it still hurts. Sir.”

“Why? Do you find pleasure in the pain?”

Blue’s cheeks flushed, but his gaze remained firm, his voice steady. “Not the pain so

much,” he said. “But because it’s a reminder of what we did last night.” He turned to face

Derek directly now, his chin tilted upward. “It’s a reminder of you, Sir.”

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Derek cocked a lopsided grin and patted Blue on the rump. Blue tensed, then breathed

more easily, his gasp melting to a sigh. Derek grasped the boy by the hips and lifted him up,

setting him on the counter. Blue winced again, his rump planted firmly on the hard surface.

Derek cupped Blue’s rounded face with both hands, tracing the cheekbones beneath

with the pads of his thumbs. “Every time you sit down today, I want you to think of me.”

Blue squirmed against the counter, and emitted a groan, his eyes narrowed in

discomfort, his lips curved in satisfaction. “Yes, Sir.”

Derek could no longer resist. He captured Blue’s mouth in a ravenous kiss, rendering

the boy breathless. As Blue wilted against him, the silk robe fell partially open and their

cocks pressed together. Derek considered taking Blue right there on the counter, but he

knew his partner needed reprieve, both inside and out, before accommodating him again.

Because now that he’d broken Blue in, he didn’t intend to hold back his brute desires during

sex any more.

Derek broke their kiss. Blue stared up at him, the usual mischievous spirit sapped from

behind his dreamy gaze, his eyes brimming with lust and pleading for more. And there was

something else…

Adoration

. Derek’s heart lurched, and his breath caught. While possessing Blue’s body

proved an exhilarating rush of ego, he had not considered the responsibility of holding the

reins to the boy’s heart. He found himself unprepared for the surge of emotion that now

washed through him, his fierce urge to protect his charge deepening into something beyond

the act of simply safeguarding his possession.

Mine

, he wanted to say, but it was too early to stake such a claim, too soon to let Blue

know his own heart had fallen prey to the growing attachment between them.

Derek reminded himself that he must stay in control, in order to continue garnering

Blue’s respect -- and to stoke the awe reflected in Blue’s eyes. Yes, not just adoration, but

awe

. He could get used to that.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“I’m going to run you a bath now,” he said sternly, stepping back at arm’s length.

“You’re filthy.”

“Oh?” Blue asked. “And whose fault is that?” He cocked one brow, and with it, the awe

lifted, just a little, and Derek saw the usual sense of cunning and mirth.

Yes, he wanted that too, that indomitable spirit simmering beneath Blue’s submissive

veneer. Because as much as he enjoyed bending Blue to his will, he never wanted to lose the

satisfaction of knowing he’d caged a feisty tiger cub.

* * * * *

“Would you define yourself as a

metrosexual

?” Blue asked, then flippantly added, “Sir.”

“No,” Derek answered, keeping a straight face. “I would define myself as a proponent of

good hygiene with a weakness for overpriced stuff that smells nice.” He offered Blue’s wet,

soapy hair a sharp tug and continued scrubbing his scalp. “Keep your head tilted back. You

were easier to deal with when you were barely conscious. Even after you slipped under the

water.”

“I did?” Blue mumbled, eyes closed.

“Twice.”

“Oh.” His brow knitted. “I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come

along and saved me from that guy.”

Derek’s gut knotted. The anger he’d already felt at his attacker grew triple-fold, at

thoughts of what might have befallen Blue, at the harsher treatment that would have likely

been bestowed upon a smaller-framed captive.

“Let’s not think about that,” he said, his mouth grim. “You’re here now, safe and

sound.”

With me. Mine

“Have you heard anything else…you know…before we got started…” Blue’s

unfinished question hung heavy in the air.

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“One article, in the back of

The City Dispatch

. It said the” -- Derek spat the next

word -- “

victim

had regained consciousness but remained unidentified.” Which Derek didn’t

understand, for while that asshole might have suffered amnesia, surely he’d carried

identification? At the least, the police might have run a tracer on the Eldorado’s plates.

“Nothing about either of us?” Blue asked.

“No, nothing,” Derek muttered. “The police are actually speculating it to be a case of

gay bashing

.”

“Well, that explains why it’s in the back of the paper,” said Blue, scowling. “My dad

isn’t too keen on seeing those cases prosecuted, and he’s got

friends

at the paper, if you catch

my drift.”

“Corruption among local law and the press? Say it isn’t so,” Derek smirked. “Keep your

head back.”

He turned on the water, then thumbed on the detachable showerhead. Blue arched his

throat tighter, letting the spray of the water drip down his scalp. From Derek’s vantage point,

Blue’s pose offered a prime view of stretched sinews and hard, lean torso, obscured just above

his pierced navel by the suds in the water. Derek’s cock stirred, and he shifted, the warm

water rippling around them.

No, not yet. He needed to let the boy heal up a bit before he

took him again

…

Blue continued speculating, unaware that he now shared the tub with a shark. “I guess

Vito covered for us, too. I mean, I only worked there that one night, but he knew me.”

“Vito?”

“The big doorman. I remember now, when that guy took me outside. He told Vito I’d

had too much to drink. I guess Vito believed him.”

Derek did some speculation of his own. “You had to show them proof of ID to work at

Blue Ruin.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“I just gave them my social. They should have checked my birth certificate, but I left all

that stuff at the house when my dad made me leave.”

“So someone might eventually figure out who you are.”

f they hadn’t already

…

Blue pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “I wonder who else my old man would

pay off, or blackmail, to keep my name out of the papers. Mind you, my family isn’t bad off,

but he’s not rolling in dough, either. He has something better.”

“Connections,” said Derek.

“Yeah. I’m sure you won’t be shocked to hear he has that whole

old boy network

going

with that fat ass Nelson.”

Derek snorted at Blue’s description of the police chief. “Yeah, that’s pretty common

knowledge, but it’s still interesting to hear you confirm it.”

“It doesn’t stop there,” said Blue. “He’s in tight with bankers, judges, half of City Hall.

You name it, my father is either golf buddies with them, or he’s got dirt on them.”

With talk of Blue’s father, Derek’s heart wrenched, and some alien anger rose inside

him.

That bastard DA, throwing his son out on the street, all because he’d found cock instead

of tits in the porn stash

Derek’s own parents were accepting of his lifestyle -- perhaps

too

accepting, as they

seemed to think it confirmed their hipness factor in having raised a gay son. Not that Austin

and Sandy had really raised him. Lost, for a moment, in his own thoughts, he rubbed a dollop

of conditioning balm between his hands.

Blue sniffed, wrinkling his nose, as Derek massaged the balm into his scalp. “This crap

smells like bananas.”

“It contains banana pulp,” Derek explained, working the conditioner through Blue’s

strands. “It smoothes the hair follicles. Even blue ones in need of a trim.” Shower nozzle in

hand, he unplugged the water and stood. He took Blue’s hand. “Stand up.”

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His partial erection did not go unnoticed. With a sly grin, Blue rose and brushed his

body up Derek’s. God, how he wanted to bend the brat over, right then and there, their flesh

slick and limbs slippery with soap and oils. He’d quite enjoy hearing the boy’s cries echo off

the tile walls as he pounded into him. Instead, he nudged Blue back a step. He thumbed the

showerhead back on and began rinsing that beautiful body clean.

“Why don’t you like showers?” he asked.

Blue stiffened. “Huh?”

Derek gestured over his shoulder toward the shower stall. “When I first brought you

home, I was going to stand you up in the shower. But you told me you hated showers -- you

clawed at me and tried to get away, in fact.”

Blue blinked. Crossing his arms, he dug his nails into his shoulders. He looked down at

the floor of the tub, at the bubbles swirling around his feet.

Derek turned off the nozzle and turned toward the towel rack. Retrieving a plush,

oversized towel, he snapped it open and whipped it around Blue’s shoulders. He took a

second towel, briefly patting himself dry, and wrapped it around his hips. He guided Blue out

of the tub, easing him over the slippery platform and onto the floor, then held the boy there,

peering down at him in earnest.

“Blue,” he pushed, his voice soft but commanding. He thumbed Blue’s chin and made

him look back up. He brushed a stray wisp of wet, white bangs where they clung to his

cheek. “I’ve told you, you can tell me anything.”

Huddled under the towel, Blue pulled away from him and walked back to the counter

where Derek had found him earlier. Rather than look directly at Derek, Blue addressed him

in the mirror, his speech slow, his manner detached, but gradually, the story unfolded.

They hadn’t raped him; they’d spared him that much. As Derek listened, a slow,

simmering anger built inside of him, the anger that Blue had long detached himself from.

That emotion Derek could relate to, he could understand, for he’d harbored his own anger

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

against the world around him for many years. But beneath it, he experienced something

entirely new -- his heart broke, just a little, and he wished someone like him had been there

to save Blue back then.

“You think I was a wimp for letting them hurt me,” Blue concluded, and Derek saw his

shame.

“No,” Derek said softly, coming to stand behind him, slipping his arms around the boy’s

narrow waist. “I think you were very strong.”

Holding Blue close, Derek leaned down and kissed the side of his neck. Yes, right now,

a touch of tenderness was in order…

…though only a little, he decided, one towel dropping to the floor, followed by the

other. As he leaned Blue over the counter, he gripped a handful of damp blue hair, making

his lover watch in the mirror, thrilling to the boy’s moans as they reverberated through the

room.

Katrina Strauss

Chapter Seven

Blue couldn’t decide if being dressed like a doll left him feeling pampered or insulted.

He stared at his reflection, skeptical of the fitted, button-down shirt in robin’s egg blue,

paired with black stretch jeans and a skinny navy blue tie draped around his neck. While he

thought Derek had impeccable style, he wasn’t so sure about the clothes that had arrived via

package courier that morning, particularly after Derek had stopped him from opening the

boxes first.

“I gauged the size of your old clothes,” Derek explained as he came back into the

bathroom, knotting his own tie, a strip of crimson silk. “And then went about three sizes

smaller.”

“I still can’t believe you threw out my Converse,” Blue griped. “Did I really get sick on

them, too?”

“They had holes in them, and the soles were worn.”

“Those were my favorite shoes! They were comfortable!” Blue sulked in the mirror.

“These look like girl clothes.”

“The pants are.” Derek came up behind him, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, and

reached around him to deposit one of the mystery boxes on the countertop. “You have a

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

perfect, slender body. When we’re at home, I like to look at it.” He smoothed his hands

down Blue’s arms, his look approving, his manner possessive. “And when we go out, I fully

intend to show off what’s mine.”

Mine

. Derek had just referred to him as

mine

“Okay, I get that,” said Blue, softening, wondering what to make of Derek’s words.

“And I appreciate that you paid for all this. But this stuff is just so…

preppy

. It’s not my

style.”

“What style?” Derek muttered around the cigarette. He slipped his arms around Blue’s

chest and began knotting the tie.

Blue melted back against him, his physical reaction betraying him. Still, he wouldn’t

surrender to Derek’s whims

that

easily, free wardrobe and vague terms of endearment

notwithstanding. “I’ve always aimed for that whole punk vibe,” he argued.

“I was punk when you were still in diapers, kid.”

“I’m not a kid. And yeah, like you’re so punk rock.”

“I had a green mohawk at your age.”

Blue’s eyes widened at the meticulously dressed man with the silken red hair, his GQ-

model features hovering above Blue’s head in the mirror as he cinched the tie in a perfect

knot. “No way. Really?”

“Yeah way. Really. I got into lots of fights, too. Beat up three skinheads once, single-

handedly, after they jumped one of my headbanger friends in a parking lot.”

Blue snorted, though inwardly, he found the mental image rather sexy. “Let me

guess -- without smearing your eyeliner?”

“Exactly. Didn’t chip my black nail polish, either.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve made me look like some pansy ass emo kid.”

“You

are

a pansy ass emo kid,” Derek smirked.

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“I am not!” Blue whined. Scowling, he crossed his arms and stomped his foot.

“I rest my case,” said Derek, patting him on the back.

Blue fumed at him in the mirror. “Do I

have

to tuck in my shirt?”

Derek nodded. Blue continued ranting. “So you want to show off what’s

yours

dressing me like your own little

Mini-Me?

I’ve always thought couples who do that are

annoying.”

Shit

. In taunting Derek’s use of the possessive, he’d gone and blurted the word

couple

Derek offered him an infuriatingly indulgent smile. “So do I. However, there

something to be said for a

couple

that looks…coordinated.”

“

Coordinated

,” mimicked Blue. “Did you consult a color chart on this?”

Derek snorted. “Shut up. Turn toward me.”

He reached into the box and drew out a studded black leather belt. Blue’s eyebrows

winged up. He quickly lowered them, attempting to hide the fact that he was impressed. He

stood still, obedient. Derek pulled the belt through the loops on the left side of his waistband,

then buckled the belt loosely at his right hip and tugged it down to the top of his thigh.

“Tilt your chin up.” Derek reached toward his throat and, to Blue’s relief, loosed the tie

a notch. Reaching under it, Derek freed the top button. Next, he turned the shirt collar back

up.

“Roll up your sleeves, about halfway to the elbow,” he instructed, rummaging through

the box again. “And then hold out your left hand.”

Blue complied, wondering what else Derek had in his bag of tricks. He waited patiently

as Derek took his hand and clasped something smooth around his wrist.

“Wow,” Blue murmured, lifting his thin wrist to admire the narrow black leather

bracelet, inlaid with a strip of blue, held in place by fabric closure. “I’ve always had a hard

time finding bracelets that fit right.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“It’s not for your wrist.” Derek smiled suggestively, and his eyes drifted to Blue’s

crotch.

“Oh.” Following Derek’s gaze, Blue flushed pink, then peered back up at him. “What’s

with the cigarette?”

Derek grabbed a bottle of hair gel and squirted a dime-sized dollop in his hand. “I’m

seeing how long I can go without lighting up.”

“Are you quitting?”

Slicking his palms together, Derek came at him. Warily, Blue let him have his way. The

mint-scented gel tingled coolly against his scalp as Derek worked it through his hair.

“I’m cutting back,” Derek finally replied, his tone gruff. “Close your eyes.”

Blue took that to mean that not only was Derek trying to quit, but for

him

. His heart

skipped a beat at the realization. He knew smoking could be a hard habit to break, and

wondered how he might encourage his master to stick with it.

Before he could say anything, Derek’s fingertips smoothed down and across his

forehead, trailing over his temples to his cheeks, leaving a cool trace of mint in their wake.

He began massaging Blue’s cheeks in a slow, circular motion.

“You’re putting this shit on my face?” Blue mumbled, barely moving his lips.

“Yes. The tea tree oil is good for your complexion.”

Good God

, thought Blue, rolling his eyes behind closed lids. Yet as Derek’s hands left

him and he opened his eyes, he had to concede that his skin

did

feel rather invigorated.

Derek retrieved a wooden comb from the counter and began teasing Blue’s hair. Blue

started to ask who the fuck bought wooden combs instead of plastic ones, but thought better

of it. Instead, he prodded Derek about his new resolution.

“So,” Blue asked, “if you successfully quit, er,

cut back

smoking, maybe you could

reward yourself for good behavior?”

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Derek slammed the comb down and took the cigarette from his mouth. “The only

person who abides by a reward system in this house” -- he jabbed Derek in the chest, the

cigarette between his fingers -- “is you.”

“Fine,” said Blue, holding his ground. “Every week that you go without a cigarette,

you

can reward

.” He rose on tiptoe and, breaking the rule about touching, pressed his palms

against Derek’s chest. “Or,” he whispered in Derek’s ear, his lips curving in a wicked smile,

“punish me -- whichever you’d prefer.”

Derek snatched him by his tie and jerked sharply. With his other hand, Derek held up

the cigarette and snapped it between his fingers. Flecks of tobacco scattered to the floor as he

dropped the pieces in the nearby wastebasket

Releasing his grip, Derek nudged Blue back against the counter and glared down at

him. “Someone is forgetting his place.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Blue mumbled, playing along. He turned back toward the mirror and

froze. Derek had parted and teased his bangs to one side, his pale streak feathered throughout

like silvery veins.

“Is that me?” he asked, amazed. “Okay, I take it back. I don’t look like some pansy ass

emo kid. I look like some pansy ass

rock star

.”

“Not yet. Put this on.” Derek pressed something into his hand. Blue looked down at the

stick of black eye kohl, the brand name

MAC

marked in silver letters on the side, the color

labeled as

Smolder

. Leaning down, Derek brushed his lips against Blue’s exposed ear and

murmured, “

Then

you’ll look like some pansy ass rock star.”

* * * * *

Blue took his place beside Derek against the back wall of the elevator and watched the

doors close. His stomach dropped as the elevator began its descent to

. He looked down at

his new black Converse and wiggled his toes in the stiff canvas, knowing they’d be as

comfortable as his old ones once he’d broken them in.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Maybe Derek

did

get his style. Though just to be a pain, he’d purposely put on

mismatched socks and slouched one down lower than the other.

He peered up through his wispy bangs and caught Derek staring down at him intently.

In the week they’d been together, he’d come to know that look. He wet his lips and sidled in

closer. In a flash, Derek was in front of him, pinning him against the wall, their mouths but a

hairbreadth apart.

“Now, remember the rules tonight,” Derek said, lips whispering against his, a puff of

warm breath filling Blue’s mouth. Minus the cigarette smoke, his master tasted pleasantly of

peppermint mouthwash.

“Yes, Sir,” Blue sighed. “I’m to stay by your side, and I’m not to speak to anyone unless

you approve.”

These rules weren’t so much an act of submission on Blue’s part, as they were to

protect both of them. While no one had contacted them regarding the man in the hospital,

and Derek intended to steer clear of Oakwood for the evening, the possibility remained that

they might bump into someone who had seen them at Blue Ruin that night.

“Good,” Derek said. One hand slid down Blue’s thigh, then back up again, lighting on

his crotch with a firm squeeze. Blue’s cock instantly swelled.

The elevator chimed, then came to a halt. From the corner of his eye, Blue peered

under Derek’s arm and saw they’d stopped only a few floors down. He experienced a brief

jolt of panic, but as quickly as he’d been pounced upon, he was released, with Derek back at

his side just as the doors slid open.

A wide-girthed, middle-aged gentleman stepped inside and turned his back to them

without so much as a glance. He pushed the star-marked

Lobby

button, and the doors closed.

As Blue’s stomach lurched, Derek reached over and gripped his crotch again. He massaged

gently, up and down, the friction sending shivers. Blue bit his lip, stifling a groan. He looked

up at Derek with silent disbelief, only to find Derek nonchalantly studying their fellow

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occupant’s broad backside. Helpless, Blue stayed quiet, fighting the sensation of arousal even

as he thrilled to it.

The elevator chimed, then lurched, at the fifth floor. The door hissed open, and still,

Derek didn’t let go. The big man stepped to the side, and a tall, svelte woman stepped in

beside him, nodding and smiling at him in greeting. Only when her sight drifted to Derek’s

face did he finally let go.

Blue breathed a quiet sigh of relief…then looked down to see his tight jeans left little to

the imagination.

Shit

…

“Hello again,” Blue heard the woman say. He looked back up, and saw that she was

quite pretty, her slender build accentuated by black clothes paired with high-heeled boots,

her pixie-like features framed with short, choppy brown layers frosted blonde at the tips.

And she was staring at Derek in blunt appreciation.

With a twinge of jealousy, Blue looked to Derek, who smiled back at the woman in

amicable greeting. “Enjoying the building so far?” he asked her.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she gushed, then rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Though I

still have boxes scattered everywhere. I haven’t really had time to unpack.”

“Have you set up your studio?”

“I’m doing that this weekend. That whole

day job

thing has been getting in the way.”

Her gaze drifted to Blue, and her smile deepened. “Oh, I love your hair. It matches those

pretty blue eyes of yours.”

Blue straightened, feeling his cheeks go hot. He didn’t go for girls, but he certainly

didn’t mind an attractive person, male or female, offering him a compliment, particularly

after they’d just scoped out someone as handsome as Derek. He started to speak, then paused,

looking to Derek for approval. The other man nodded slightly.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, looking back at her.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“You’re welcome,” she smiled. Her gaze flicked between Blue and Derek, and her eyes

lit in understanding.

The elevator halted at the ground floor. As Blue caught his first glimpse of the lobby,

the large man stepped out, then turned and braced his hand against the door to keep it from

shutting.

“Oh, thank you,” the woman said. She glanced back at Derek, then focused on Blue. A

knowing grin played at the corners of her lips, and she murmured under her breath. “You’re

one very lucky boy.”

“He knows,” said Derek smoothly.

She laughed and shook her head, apparently charmed by Derek’s cocky attitude. “I’d

love to photograph you two some time.”

And with that, she stepped out, her heels clicking smartly across polished taupe

marble. The second they were alone, Derek was back on him, devouring his mouth, grinding

against his pelvis.

“If I wasn’t worried about getting evicted,” Derek murmured, cupping his chin, grazing

his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “I’d push

emergency stop

and fuck you right here

against the wall.”

Blue shivered with excitement at the mere thought. “Why are you teasing me like this,

Sir?” he asked, breathless, helpless, wholly aroused.

“Because I can.”

“Who was that woman?”

“Sadie. She’s a photographer for the

Urban Weekly

.”

“Why was she was flirting with us, if she knows we’re --” He sucked in his breath, his

question cut off by the warm, wet shock of Derek’s tongue darting into his ear.

“Maybe she wants to watch,” Derek teased, his breath hot against Blue’s pulse point.

“What if I fucked you while someone else watched?”

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“I would hope you wouldn’t make me do that, Sir,” Blue sighed. “But if you really

wanted me to…”

The elevator doors

swooshed

open. Blue prayed no one was standing there.

“Don’t worry,” Derek smiled, almost sweetly, and Blue knew he’d offered the right

answer. “I’m too selfish to let anyone watch.” He groped Blue one more time before turning

away. As Blue followed him into the parking garage, Derek peered back over his shoulder,

his smile gone cool and sinister again. “Though remember -- you never know who might be

looking.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Chapter Eight

“Are you ready to get off?”

The shopping bags fell to the ground. Derek slammed Blue against the door to the loft.

He gave Blue’s crotch another squeeze, enjoying the soft give of the rounded orbs through

Blue’s jeans, contrasted by the hard bulge twitching directly above them. Blue writhed

against him and peered up at him with a pleading look.

“Yes, Sir,” he gasped in a strangled whisper.

Derek’s lips twisted in a wicked smile. Ah, to tame his defiant little prisoner, simply by

holding the boy’s pleasure cupped in the palm of his hand. He’d tormented Blue throughout

the evening, alternating between rubbing the outline of Blue’s shaft to stimulate him, then

massaging the testicles to ease the congestion of blood. He’d copped feels beneath the table at

the hibachi house, behind a display at the convenience store, even once at the drugstore,

right there in the middle of the aisle under the premise of trying a pair of shades on Blue.

“What if someone sees us?” Blue had blurted in desperation.

“I told you, you never know who’s looking,” Derek had shrugged in turn. Of course, he

had ensured no one was actually watching. His actions served strictly as a reminder to Blue

that he existed at his master’s mercy, no matter the time or place.

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Yet as arousing as he found it to feel Blue go pliant in his arms, he also liked knowing

that his captive presented a challenge. Still pressed against Blue, he fumbled in his pocket for

his key card. He swiped it through the security slot and entered the password by touch. In

one swift movement, he opened the door. Blue stumbled back into the dimly lit apartment

and caught himself on his hands, his ass slapping against the floor. Derek remained standing,

arms braced against the doorjamb, and smirked down at him.

“Go stand by the bed,” Derek commanded.

Rising, Blue glared back at him over his shoulder, his mouth screwed in an angry pout

as he rubbed his rump.

Ah, yes, there it was, that spark of defiance behind those sensitive

blue eyes

Derek picked the bags up from the hall floor and brought them inside. He toed off his

shoes at the door, then went to the table where he deposited his wares. He fished through

the drugstore bag for one item in particular.

The fresh bottle of lube in hand, he hefted one of the dinette chairs over his shoulder

and carried it across the loft to the opposite side of the bed from Blue. Turning the back

toward the bed, he straddled the seat and made himself comfortable. Crossing his arms across

the chair back, he leaned forward and rested his chin.

“Get undressed,” Derek instructed.

Blue turned his back and started to sit.

“Did I say you could get on the bed?” Derek snapped.

Hastily, Blue rose and turned back around. “Sorry, Sir,” he muttered. As he fumbled

with the knot of his necktie, he cast a wistful glance at the lamp on the nightstand, the bulb

dimmed to the lowest setting.

“No, you can’t turn off the lamp,” Derek said. It never ceased to amaze him that

someone on intimate terms with his partner could still blush with modesty when made to

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

undress in the light, though Blue’s red-faced reticence made the striptease all the more fun to

watch.

The necktie free, Blue stared down at the floor and began unbuttoning his shirt. His

movements proved too rapid for Derek’s taste. He snapped at Blue again. “Slow down. And

never take your eyes off me.”

Once Blue had shimmied off his pants, he stood, waiting. His pale, perfect body shone

like alabaster in the soft glow of the lamp, save for his cock, the glans swollen and red where

it brushed his smooth navel.

“Kneel on the bed,” Derek said. “Good. Now…I want you to pleasure yourself.”

Blue’s eyes widened, and in them Derek saw his hesitance and, perhaps, a trace of

disappointment. So soon, his precious submissive had already come to expect his master to

fulfill his needs.

At the start of the evening, Derek had indeed entertained the notion of restraining Blue

once they’d returned home and holding him at the plateau phase for another hour or so. Yet

the truth was, despite those three intense days they’d spent together, he had not been with

Blue long enough to gauge his lover’s response so precisely. Blue best knew his body’s limits,

and Derek intended to watch and learn how to detect those limits.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he chuckled softly. He flipped open the

lube and extended his arm. “We all do it.”

Blue’s cheeks blazed scarlet as he grudgingly stretched out his left arm. Derek squirted

a quarter-sized portion of the clear liquid into Blue’s cupped palm, then snapped the lid shut

and resumed his casual, crossed-arm pose.

With an underhanded hold, Blue curled the fingers of his dominant hand around the

base of his shaft. He made a few tentative strokes, slicking his cock with a wet, sucking

sound.

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“Yes, nice and slow,” Derek coaxed, amused by his lefty partner. “Savor the moment.

Oh, and one more thing -- you’re not allowed to get yourself off.”

Blue’s hand faltered. “S-sir?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” said Derek.

“But Sir” -- Blue countered, shaking his head -- “you told me to…pleasure myself.”

“Yes, I did. Now,” he said, his eyes narrowed, the timbre of his voice lowered in a show

of authority. “Do as you’re told.”

Blue glowered at him, but went back to pumping his fist, working his cock with slow,

methodical strokes, the flushed sheath of skin glistening with lube. Derek noted with delight

how the boy circled his thumb around the opening of his glans before easing back down. His

gaze drifted upward, where he took in Blue’s face, his angry scowl giving way to a glazed

look as his jaw went slack.

Blue shifted his weight and leaned back on the other hand. He began to rock his hips,

the mattress creaking softly. Derek watched, mesmerized by the wanton show of pleasure

before him -- and all of it at his behest.

“

Oh, God

,” Blue gasped, dropping his hand, planting both palms into the mattress and

clutching the sheets. He trembled, his ribs fluttering with shallow gasps, his cock pulsing and

twitching as a stray drop of pre-ejaculate trickled forth.

Blue looked at Derek, his eyes begging, pleading. “It hurts,” he croaked in a hoarse

whisper.

“You’ll be fine,” Derek said. “Spread your knees. Good, now hold your balls up.”

Gingerly, Blue cupped his sac, the flesh taking on a purpled hue. Wincing, he bit into

his lips and inhaled sharply.

“Higher,” Derek coaxed. “Yes, stretch them tight. Let me see that sweet little ass of

yours.” Derek paused a moment, partly for effect, partly to take in the enticing view.

“Good. Now, take your other hand, and get your fingers wet.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Blue sat straight and complied. With a seductive pout, his manner shifted subtly as he

made a show of sucking the digits in to his mouth, one by one. His eyes seemed to say,

could be doing other things with my mouth

The effect was not wholly lost on Derek, his prick swelling as impatiently as Blue’s, but

it wasn’t going to work. He was the one calling the shots.

“Good boy,” he commended. “Now slide your hand down between your legs and fuck

yourself.”

Blue withdrew his fingers from his mouth with a startled

pop

. He averted his gaze, his

cheeks flaring once more, and slid his hand down under his stretched balls. Tentatively, he

touched one fingertip to his puckered hole, still red from Derek’s previous invasions. He

inserted his middle finger to the first knuckle and stopped.

“What’s the matter?” Derek taunted. “You like it well enough when I fuck you there.”

Blue nodded mutely, his eyes gone shy again, his cheeks mantled with a warm crimson

hue. Chin down, he peered up through his bangs. He mouthed the words

Yes, Sir

Derek speculated. “All the times that I’m sure you’ve masturbated -- not once have you

fucked your own ass?”

“No, Sir,” he answered quietly. “I just jerked off…”

Finding himself completely and utterly charmed, Derek let out another quiet laugh.

“You’re so adorable, Blue. My little virgin slut.” His eyes narrowed, his vision dimmed with

lust. “Now, enough teasing. I want to see you slide that finger in all the way. That’s right” --

he caught the hiss in his voice and kept his excitement in check -- “to the knuckle. Good,

now, another finger. Stretch your fingers and find that spot inside of you where it feels best.

You’ve heard of the G-spot on a girl?”

“Yeah,” Blue mumbled, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at mention of the female

anatomy.

“That’s yours. Now work it, nice and slow. And don’t you dare come.”

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Derek watched in awe, holding his own desire at bay even as he controlled Blue’s. He

could think of no more an erotic display than the one presented on his bed, of this beautiful,

naked man with the hard, slicked cock, flexing his crooked fingers in out and out of his own

ass, exploring his body in the throes of self-gratification. Feeling the heat of the room rise

another notch, Derek hooked one finger under his crimson silk tie and loosed it.

Blue’s mouth rounded, and his face puffed, his breath coming in short bursts. He jerked

his fingers free. Spine arched, body quivering, he fisted the comforter. “

Please, Sir

,” he

mouthed up at the ceiling, his words barely above a whisper. “I can’t hold back anymore…”

“Don’t move.” In a flash, Derek was on the mattress, his knees between Blue’s.

Reaching for the boy’s left wrist, he freed the cock ring with a light

rip

. With wicked glee,

he reached down between Blue’s thighs and cinched the ring around his balls and the base of

his cock, just enough to torment his hapless charge a bit longer and impede his climax. Blue

looked down and emitted a disappointed groan.

Sliding the strip of crimson from around his neck, Derek quickly went back to work on

Blue’s cock. Starting at the base of the shaft, he looped the narrow end of the tie twice

around the cock ring, and then wrapped upward, overlapping slightly with each wind of the

tie. Reaching the glans, he tucked the free end under the top loop to form a loose knot.

With a quick, sharp tug, he tightened the silk. Blue gasped, his cry bordering on a sob.

He shut his eyes tight, squeezing out two tears that trailed down each cheek.

Tears

-- Derek’s biggest weakness, his darkest and most shameful fetish. He pulled Blue

to him and cradled the back of his head. With his lips, he traced the salted trail on that

tortured angelic face. When Blue’s mouth met his, initiating the kiss, Derek did not stop him.

As Blue moved to unbutton his shirt, he allowed the boy free rein, relishing the glide of

curious hands over his shoulders and down his back, the eager tongue darting across his

collarbone and around his pecs.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

As agitated as Blue now, Derek unbuckled his trousers and slid them to his knees.

Slipping free of them, he reclined against the pillows, bringing Blue with him, positioning

his partner to straddle his hips. He groped for the lube where he’d dropped it on the

mattress. Reaching around, he slicked his cock, then used the excess to wet Blue’s entrance.

He seized Blue by the hips. “Ride me,” he said, and then he thrust upward as he shoved

Blue down.

Blue threw his head back and cried out. Gripping his buttocks, spreading them wide,

Derek guided Blue up and down his shaft, slowly at first, then building momentum,

following the dictates of his own body while he showed Blue his rhythm. Through the haze

of his rising pleasure, he reveled in the sight of the smooth, pale body stretched taut above

him, the tendons of Blue’s throat standing out, the flesh tight across his Adam’s apple as he

arched his neck.

His eyes trailed down, relishing the path along the way. He watched Blue’s cock as it

bobbed with their movements, snugly encased in its cocoon of silk. Derek offered it a light

smack, then tugged on the end of the cord. Blue yelped in protest, yet ground against him all

the harder.

Derek grunted between thrusts. “Does it hurt?”

“

Yes

,” Blue hissed through bared teeth, his words backed by the loud

smack

of his ass

slapping against Derek.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “Oh, God…”

Derek pulled the top end of the tie free and yanked it directly outward from Blue’s

groin. The smooth silk slid freely, uncoiling from Blue’s prick, the shaft rotating around the

silk in small, rapid circles. Blue positively mewled, his protests high and pure.

Rolling, Derek switched their positions, throwing Blue back into the pillows. It had

been nice to stretch back and watch his partner do some of the work, but when Blue came,

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he wanted a closer view of that pained expression giving way to one of ecstasy. And when

came, he intended to pummel that sweet little ass until the boy was senseless.

Derek hooked Blue’s legs over his shoulders, aiming for the deepest penetration

possible, confident his partner could accommodate him. Gripping Blue’s ankles, he increased

his pace. In turn, Blue grabbed hold of the bedrails and thrashed his head, his tear-streaked

face gone red, his hair whipping in his eyes.

“Derek…Sir…” the boy begged, even as his buttocks bucked to meet Derek’s hips.”No

more…I can’t take anymore…”

Seconds to the drop, Derek was ready to bring his lover falling with him. “You want to

come?” he managed to ask.

“

Yes

…

please

…”

He hooked one finger beneath Blue’s swollen balls and freed the cock ring. With it, he

let himself go, the contractions of his release matched thrust for thrust, his grunts backed by

the rising crescendo of his lover’s cries. Dropping Blue’s legs, he fell forward, spine dipped,

head back, his hands braced beside Blue’s shoulders. The boy came just moments after, hot

pearls of fluid splattering up his chest, the force of his climax as violent as that which had

erupted inside him.

Derek held himself up, taking a moment to catch his breath. He used the opportunity

to observe Blue, face turned into his arm, his hair disheveled and damp from sweat. Smugly,

he watched as Blue’s complexion, heated from sex, returned to its delicate porcelain hue.

Derek’s face stretched in a satisfied Cheshire grin. Yes, there was nothing quite like

that freshly fucked look, and knowing that he was the responsible culprit.

Curling forward, he lowered his head to Blue’s chest. With long, lazy swirls, he licked

the flesh clean, savoring the boy’s essence. He paused to linger at one nipple, then the other,

before tracing his path upward, languishing over the rapid pulse of Blue’s jugular before

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

finding his lips. He plied Blue’s mouth with a ravenous kiss, stifling the boy’s long, low moan

and offering him a taste of his own seed.

Rolling to his side, propped on one elbow now, Derek bent his leg and rested his thigh

across Blue’s frame. He stroked his knuckles down the boy’s cheek, in a gesture both

possessive and tender. He brushed back the sweat-soaked strands of hair from Blue’s brow

and pressed his lips there with a gentle kiss. Only when he was certain that Blue was out

cold did he confess his feelings in a soft murmur.

“

I think I could fall in love with you

.”

His heart skipped a beat at the hint of Blue’s lips curling up at one end, but then the

boy began to snore lightly and Derek knew his secret remained safe, his moment of folly

ignored.

Katrina Strauss

Chapter Nine

Derek’s breath pooled down Blue’s neck in a warm cascade, his silken mane draping

them both as he pressed against Blue from behind in the bathtub. One hand cupped Blue’s

waist, the other gripping his wrist to guide his hand with sure, hard strokes.

“Yes,” Derek murmured, his lips tickling Blue’s ear, sending shivers through Blue’s

spine. “Just like that. Up, then down. Grind it, right there. Harder.”

“My back hurts,” Blue muttered. “Can’t I take a break?”

“Not until I say you’re done. We’ll do this all night if we have to.” Derek’s teeth tugged

at Blue’s earlobe in a playful nip. He licked Blue there, then paused with an exasperated

groan. “Back up again, over here. You missed a spot. How many times do we have to go over

this?”

Blue grinned to himself. “Sorry, Sir. I’ll do better next time.”

The truth was that he’d purposely missed a few spots in the tub grout, just so his

neurotic perfectionist of a master would correct his mistakes. On cue, Derek moved his hand

and helped him swirl the toothbrush in the paste of baking soda mixed with a few drops of

fresh lemon juice.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“Next time?” Derek grumbled, guiding his hand back to spot on the wall. “You should

do it right the first time.”

“Guess you’ll just have to spank me,” Blue teased, wriggling his ass, delighting in the

scratch of Derek’s trousers against his sore, bare flesh. “Sir,” he added with a smirk.

“I think you’ve come to like that a little too much.” Derek tilted his pelvis, teasing him

back, then released him and stepped out of the tub. “How about I

don’t

spank you. For a

week.”

“You’re mean,” Blue said with a mock pout.

“And you are a brat,” Derek said, though Blue sensed a hint of affection to his words.

“I’m going to run down to Sadie’s real quick. I need to ask her something. I expect you to be

finished when I get back.”

On the chance Derek wasn’t just engaging in playful banter, Blue turned his full

attention to the task at hand. No need to get himself in trouble and deprive himself of what

had become his preferred form of foreplay.

In just the two-and-a-half weeks he’d stayed with his master, Blue had acquired

something of a Pavlovian response to the riding crop. The sheer sight of one evoked sensual

connotations, the parts themselves smacking of innuendo -- the tongue, the shaft, the grip.

And then there was the ominous sound of it tearing through the air, the echoing

thwack

upon impact, followed by the sharp, delicious sting that sent Blue’s nerves sizzling

throughout his body. Adding to the experience were the vulnerable positions he was placed

in before receiving a sound cropping, and the way his excited master took him all the harder

afterward, particularly when Blue caved in and vamped up the whole crying thing.

Another exquisite element had been thrown into the mix just the night before. Derek

had made him clench the shaft of the crop between his teeth, instructing him not to drop it,

then proceeded to fuck Blue so senseless that his ass retained as many souvenirs from Derek’s

relentless thrusts as it did from the kiss of the crop. But to Blue’s surprise, the scent and taste

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of the leather braiding alone had been enough to send the blood racing to his already

engorged prick. Coupled with the delicious slide of his lover’s cock pounding into his ass,

he’d experienced his hardest orgasm to date.

His cock stirred at the memory. He looked down, reminded of the ring snapped around

the base of his shaft, the one he wore in public around his wrist, a private joke between him

and Derek. It was fastened comfortably for the moment, his master’s motive sheer

adornment. Later that evening, Derek would slip it lower and tighter around the testicles,

leaving Blue in delightful agony a good twenty minutes before letting up.

The thought of it made him scrub the wall all the harder. He didn’t care to be deprived

of his pleasure later that night.

* * * * *

Derek stood amidst unpacked boxes, studying Sadie’s half-stocked bookshelf, one hand

pocketed, the other trailing the spines of the books. He nursed the cigarette that dangled

from his lips, attempting to squelch his craving, but without the singe of smoke, followed by

the heady rush of nicotine, the taste of tobacco in his mouth only left him wanting for his

lighter.

Granted, the past two weeks, he’d noted the positives of going smoke-free. He hadn’t

woken up coughing every morning, and his sense of taste and smell, already accustomed to

the best money could buy, had grown more finely honed. It had also proved an interesting

exercise in self-discipline, a challenge Derek was always up for. Best of all, he’d rewarded

himself for his perseverance by buying toys for his partner. Last weekend, he’d presented

Blue with a string of anal beads; later tonight, it would be the item he carried in his pocket

beside his lighter. If he could make it a month, he had a special prize in mind for his little

pain slut.

But damned, he wanted a cigarette.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

His brow furrowed, and his touch lingered at one book in particular --

Graven Images:

Behind the Lens with Austin Graves

He removed the book from the shelf, the cover wide, the glossy pages slick and smooth.

Cradling the spine in his palm, he allowed the book to fall open to a random page. On the

left, a young Iggy Pop, dressed only in black leather pants, stood balanced on a stool, his

scrawny arms spread like a bird’s wings, his ribs painfully visible; on the right, an all-girl

punk trio, The Stilettos, sat on a red couch behind a garbage dumpster, the blonde in the

middle a then unknown Deborah Harry.

Derek flipped a few pages over, to the simple black-and-white headshot the

photographer had captured of his friend and fellow artist, Robert Mapplethorpe. Of course,

the late great Mapplethorpe had gone on to make a bigger name for himself than Austin

Graves ever had.

Shaking his head at the irony of it all, Derek thumbed by memory to the center of the

book. An elegant woman, long and lean, dressed in a black vinyl cheongsam, reclined on a

lounge settee. Her soft Eurasian features, enhanced by Geisha-style makeup, were sharply

offset by platinum-bleached tresses. A rice paper fan opened in one hand, a cigarette dangled

from a stylus in the other. Smoke curled in sensual ribbons from her painted, doll-like pout.

The inset identified the model as Sandra Yee, the photographer’s wife and assistant.

The accompanying description explained that Sandra had envisioned the concept of the

portrait to represent the conflicting stereotypes thrust upon the Asian woman, that of the

subservient, delicate

lotus blossom

versus the seductive, sharp-clawed

dragon lady

Derek smiled and shook his head. He knew that legally, the model and the

photographer had never married, and that Sandra’s real surname had been Smith, her more

exotic alias taken from her mother -- a Korean war bride who, if she’d married a fellow

countryman rather than a Midwestern farm boy turned soldier, would not have been

expected to change her name in the first place.

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Studying the image for the first time in years, Derek admitted that his mother had been

a beautiful woman. He admired the nerve it had taken for her to leave a boring, if

predictable, Midwest suburban existence and plunge headlong into the New York glam scene

of the 1970s. He just hadn’t spent much time with her, what with the parties and the gallery

showings during his early years, her time later taken by the two daughters she’d planned

with his bank executive stepfather while Derek had been left to his own devices, his first

computer the consolation prize.

He flipped to the back of the book, to Austin and Sandy’s self-timed family portrait,

taken in the couple’s cheap East Village studio before the area had become trendy and the

rent had skyrocketed while their relationship crashed and burned. On a ratty old sofa,

draped with a luxurious bolt of crushed purple velvet, their son sat between them. The

porcelain-skinned, green-eyed toddler looked like a grade-schooler in both height and build,

while the serious expression on his face hinted at a certain precociousness. The evidence of

his Korean heritage lay in the almond tilt to his eyes and the smooth texture of his hair, its

dark auburn shade settled somewhere between his mother’s natural black-brown and his

father’s ginger-red.

Footsteps sounded as Sadie came back in from the balcony, where she’d stepped outside

to take a phone call, and -- from the smell of it -- smoke a cigarette. Nibbling at the filter in

his mouth, Derek closed the book, just as he’d closed the pages on that chapter of his life, and

returned it to the shelf. He reached inside his pocket, feeling for his lighter. He paused, his

fingers brushing against the other item, the light rattle of chains reminding him not to light

up.

“So what’s up?” she asked.

“You used to work for

The City Dispatch

.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Shamefully, yes. Though I got over it.”

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“Is there any reason the paper might report an incident -- let’s say a minor one, but still

of local interest -- but then never follow up?”

Sadie shrugged. “It could be a number of things. The story might prove a bust. The

reporter might drop it to pursue a hotter lead, or to meet a pushed-up deadline on another

story.”

“Would they go so far as to remove the article from the online database?”

Sadie frowned. “We had a few bogus articles appear courtesy of hackers, so in that case,

yes. The Editor-in-Chief never issued a retraction, either, because the boss didn’t want it to

get out that our security had been breached.”

Derek nodded. In his younger days, he’d planted a few bogus stories of his own, in

The

New York Times

no less. That had been in the days of strictly print, however, the evidence

harder to cover up. “What about payoff?”

Sadie crossed her arms and studied him. Lips pursed, her gaze drifted to the bookshelf.

“I heard whispers,” she said. “Given the ethics of some of my former coworkers, I wouldn’t

be surprised.” She looked back at him pointedly. “What’s the story?”

“An assault case in the Oakwood District, presumed to be a case of gay bashing. The” --

he forced himself to say the next word -- “victim was admitted to ICU as a

John Doe

.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “

P esumed

gay bashing you say?”

“Yeah.”

Sadie walked over to her black leather loveseat and sat down. “What do you know?”

Following her cue, sensing he could trust her with more, Derek sat down across from

her and leaned back. “I know that

John Doe’s

medical status was upgraded a few days ago,

and that he was transferred to the regular patient floor.”

“And he’s still listed as John Doe?” she said, brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense,

unless he’s suffering amnesia and didn’t have any ID on him. Homeless, maybe?”

“No. He’s in a private room.”

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“That means money,” Sadie said.

“That” -- he said, thinking back on what Blue had told him about the District

Attorney -- “or connections.”

Sadie paused before nodding in agreement. “What’s your involvement, Derek?”

“I was at Blue Ruin that night,” he answered smoothly.

Sadie’s eyes lit and she sat straighter. “Blue Ruin?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “All right, what do

you

know?”

“I’m scheduled for a shoot there next week. The

Weekly

is starting a series on

overlooked nightspots. Blue Ruin was picked to represent Oakwood.”

“That little hole in the wall?” Derek snorted.

“They shut down last week due to health code violations --”

“They did?” Derek interrupted. “I hadn’t heard.” But then of course he hadn’t known;

he and Blue had steered clear of Oakwood since that fateful night.

“Yeah, and get this. One of their former

bounce s

bought the place, in just a matter of

days. He has a renovation project in the works, so that’s the angle we’re covering. Next week

is the

before

pictorial, then in a few months, we’re following up with an

after

.” She absently

drummed her fingers on the sofa arm. “We have some interesting factors in this equation,

don’t we?”

“You could say that.” Derek nodded.

And he and Blue were the missing variables

* * * * *

There seemed to be more to the situation than the District Attorney protecting his

name. Who had Derek left beaten in the alley that night? Was Blue’s father even involved at

this point? How deep did the cover-up go?

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

His brow furrowed, Derek mulled over the clues as he stepped out of the elevator and

headed toward his apartment. Sadie had promised to ask some very loaded questions when

she visited Blue Ruin. Meanwhile, he would rely on his outdated hacking skills to see if he

could glean anything of use.

He entered the loft, and the beautiful offering that awaited him on his bed took his

breath away. Though the display struck him as a little too contrived, particularly with the lit

candles, he certainly couldn’t complain at the sight of Blue, sprawled on his stomach, the

sheets draped across the lower curve of his ass.

Feeling in his pocket, Derek strode to the bed and kneaded one hand against the firm

globes of his little possum’s rump. At the tiny sigh that escaped Blue’s lips, Derek reared his

arm back, then planted his hand back down with a firm slap.

“

Hey

!” Blue bolted up. Derek quickly straddled him and grabbed his wrists. Blue’s eyes

sparked and, to Derek’s delight, he resisted and attempted to pull away.

Naturally, Blue’s efforts proved futile. His eyes squinted in a piercing glare, his lips

twisted in an angry snarl, but the hardened length pressing into Derek’s thigh betrayed any

mock resistance.

“You smell like smoke,” Blue accused.

“It’s from Sadie.”

“Prove it.”

Derek cocked one eyebrow. “I don’t believe I have to answer to you. I’m not the one

chained to the bed.”

Angered, he seized a handful of blue hair, then crushed his mouth to his accuser’s lips.

Moments later, he jerked away.

“Do you taste any fucking smoke?” Derek growled.

“No,” Blue gasped, panting for more. “Sorry…Sir…”

Katrina Strauss

Derek grinned down at him in smug triumph. He released Blue’s wrists, only for Blue

to leave them pinned above his head of his own volition. Derek’s smile deepened, his

authority bolstered, his victory secured. To ensure his submissive stayed in check, he teased

Blue’s prick with one hand while he readjusted the cock ring with the other. Blue groaned

and writhed beneath him, but Derek knew that the boy had learned, already, to welcome the

discomfort.

Yes, he’d proven easy to train thus far. But Derek had more lessons in store for his apt

pupil. He reached in his pocket and retrieved the new toy. With an evil grin, he dangled the

nipple clamps above Blue’s face, the chains gleaming in the glow of candlelight. Blue licked

his lips nervously, his eyes widening, but in them Derek also saw curious anticipation. Ah

well, he’d satisfy that soon enough.

Lowering his face, he licked one nipple and then tugged it between his teeth. The pink

flesh instantly pebbled in response. Teasing with the bare tip of his tongue, he applied one of

the rubber-sheathed tweezer clamps around the erect nub. Easing the slider ring up, he

pinched the clamp in place. Blue flinched and hissed. Encouraged, Derek slid the ring higher

and tightened the tension before leaving the clamp in place.

“Ouch, that hurts!” Blue snapped, yet he made no effort to twist away.

Derek grinned up at him coolly, finding sadistic pleasure in Blue’s stunned look of

surprise. “What did you expect?”

He followed suit with the other nipple. With both nipples clamped, Derek offered the

chain a tug. Blue gasped and arched his spine. Stretching his arms, he gripped the headboard,

his hands in place as though held with chains.

Approving, Derek slid down and kissed his way to Blue’s prick. Now he would

alternate between pain and pleasure. Once the boy’s endorphins kicked in, he’d remove the

clamps, knowing the rush of blood returning to the nipples would hurt as much as the pinch.

Afterward, perhaps he’d make use of that plain white paraffin candle burning on the

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

nightstand and raise his captive’s thresholds to the next level. He’d never tried wax play on a

partner before, but he’d read up on the proper safety measures, and he knew he’d found the

right person to experiment with, one who trusted him implicitly and was willing to explore

the limits.

Blue sighed as Derek took his length down his throat. Yes, Derek thought, there were

plenty of lessons in store, with new experiences to be enjoyed by teacher and student alike.

Katrina Strauss

Chapter Ten

Numb, blind, vaguely disoriented, Blue’s teeth chattered and his knees trembled. The

hiss of the shower, which served as his only link to reality, brought back the memory in full,

vivid detail.

They’d bound his wrists to one of the showerheads in the boys’ locker room, turned the

water to cold, and then left him there. The coach had found him an hour later, throwing a

towel around him, looking away in embarrassment. He’d come down with a bronchial

infection afterward, stayed home the following two weeks, in the quiet of his room, in the

safety of his bed. Yet it had been far from warm, for his father, shamed at his son’s weakness,

had refused to speak with him, and had only allowed his mother to come in and bring him

medicine and food. But through it all, not once had Blue cried

…

He pondered why he had divulged this incident from his past to Derek. He asked

himself how he had let Derek convince him to relive it. It dawned on him just what a sick

fuck Derek could be, using something this painful against him.

Mostly, though, Blue worried he’d gotten in over his head by relinquishing his power

to another in the first place.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

, he scolded himself. He could take it. And unlike his junior high tormentors, his

master could be trusted to come back for him.

Then again, he’d expected Derek to return sooner. What if something had happened to

him? What if he’d left the apartment altogether? And then gotten mugged? Or been in a car

accident? Or…

With his last ounce of strength, Blue cried out. His weight sagged, his back sliding

down the slippery tiles. The wet silk sash which bound his wrists to the high showerhead cut

into his flesh.

He heard the shower door open. “Had enough?” a welcome voice asked.

“

Y-y-yesssssiiirrrrr

,” he whimpered, grateful the water and the blindfold both served to

mask his tears.

He heard the

squeak

of the faucet as Derek readjusted the temperature. Gradually, the

air around him warmed, as did the stray drops of water splattering against his flesh. Warmer

hands grasped his hips, propping him back up, and then Derek’s firm, wet body pressed

against his. Derek caressed him, slicking his palms up Blue’s taut frame to his wrists, then

back down again to his thighs. As steam swirled around them, Blue melted in the heat of

Derek’s embrace.

Fingers clawed into the lower curve of Blue’s buttocks. His feet arched to his tiptoes,

easing the stress on his arms. Soft lips brushed his pulse point. “Wrap your legs around my

waist,” Derek murmured against his flesh.

He complied with his master’s command. Instantly, his entrance was invaded, the

breath forced from his lungs, as Derek impaled him with one fell thrust. His cock, which had

shriveled under the cold spray, now lengthened against Derek and stayed firm. In a matter of

minutes, Blue’s stomach lurched, and a violent spasm of release tore through him, slicking

the smooth plane of Derek’s navel. He cried out, his ragged sobs echoing off the shower tiles.

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As his muscles contracted from the last wave of climax, Derek paused, panting hard, his

growl of pleasure bordering on impatience. “No, not yet…not ready to come…”

Still inside of him, he fiddled with Blue’s binds, then cursed under his breath. “I’ll be

back,” he announced brusquely, his cock slipping free. Blue righted himself limply, drained

from the orgasm, his flesh gone cold once more.

“Where are you --” he started to ask, catching the high-pitched whine in his voice. He

cleared his throat. “-- going? Sir?”

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Derek’s footsteps splashing in the water. “Be still,”

Derek instructed, a note of caution in his tone. “I have a knife. I need to cut your binds.”

Once he’d hobbled free of the shower stall, Derek bundled him in a warm, thick towel

and then steered him to the bed. Beneath the sheets, still blindfolded, he shivered lightly.

Derek curled around him from behind and stroked his lank, wet locks. He whispered

into his ear. “Is this how it should have gone that day?”

“Yes,” Blue murmured. “I just wanted someone to hold me…to warm me back

up…but…” His voice threatened to crack.

God, he had to stop crying in front of thi man, no

matter how much it seemed to turn Derek on

…

“There was no one there for you.”

“No. No one.”

No one to love h m…nobody to hear him cry, to dry his tears, i he’d

allowed himself the luxury that day, or in the following weeks, alone in his room

…

“I told you I’d come back.”

“I know,” Blue whispered in turn, shamed at his moment of doubt and panic.

“And I’m here with you now.”

I know

, he started to confirm again, but his words were cut off as Derek crooked his

uppermost leg by the knee and slipped back inside of him.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

“See how that tight little hole of yours swallows me up,” Derek murmured in approval,

giving an extra nudge, a deeper grind, right to the hilt. “Never forget, I’m the one who took

it first.”

“Never,” Blue vowed with a sigh. “Only you…no one else…ever again…”

Derek halted, both of them teetering on the edge of release. He slid Blue’s blindfold off

and cast it aside. It cleared the carpet and hit the parquet with a wet

plop

. Cupping Blue’s

face, he angled his head back, his long fingers grazing the boy’s jaw line from ear to chin.

“Blue,” he said, soft but stern, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Blue fixed his gaze back up at his sloe-eyed master, a beautiful sight in the half light of

dusk filtering through the curtains, his damp hair spilling around their faces like a

shimmering curtain of silk. He swallowed, knowing he’d declared his devotion prematurely.

But what did he have to lose?

“Don’t worry, Sir,” he replied, doing his best to control the tremor in his voice. “I won’t

break it.”

“Blue, I’m --” Derek paused, lips pursed, and Blue sensed his uncertainty, detected the

vulnerability beneath that stern but smooth baritone. “I’m not playing.”

Blue repressed a smile, remembering to keep his tone humble. “Neither am I. Sir.”

Derek kissed him, muffling his sighs, his tongue sweeping Blue’s in a delicious, lazy

swirl. He resumed thrusting, slower, softer, but his grip still strong and sure. Blue relaxed his

body and bent his knee higher. While intercourse still hurt a little, particularly repeat

sessions, the end result was well worth any discomfort.

A second climax rippled through him in long, languorous waves. Blue purposely

clinched his inner muscles in time, enhancing the rhythm, increasing his pleasure. When

Derek emitted the telltale gasp of his own orgasm, Blue gripped tighter, milking every

precious drop.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Chapter Eleven

Blue reclined in the piercing chair, his ivory limbs contrasted against black leather, his

bare chest spotlighted by the glow of the overhead swivel lamp. Derek took all this in from

across the small, private room with bemused curiosity. He slouched back in the curved

plastic chair, one foot propped on his knee.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Blue flashed a grin at him and patted one chair arm. “We need one of these at

home.”

Fingers steepled at his lip, Derek studied the piercing chair, which appeared to be a

cross between a dentist chair and an exam table. “Yes, it holds definite possibilities.”

“All right, you two. Don’t shock my virgin ears,” joked Quincy, their body art

technician for the day.

Short and svelte, Quincy proved a walking display of his craft, replete with facial

piercings, plugged earlobes, and a sleeve of boldly colored tattoos on each forearm. His punk

rock attire, consisting today of a Union Jack T-shirt paired with vinyl bondage pants and tall

lace-up boots, only upped the ante of his unconventional appearance. With his symmetrical

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bangs streaked three different shades of the rainbow, he made Blue look downright

conservative.

Quincy snapped on his second latex glove. He took a seat on the wooden stool by Blue,

sitting caddy-corner to grant Derek a full view of the procedure. “Ready?”

Blue stuck out his tongue, flashing his stud, but Derek detected a glimmer of

nervousness beneath his otherwise flippant demeanor. “If I could handle getting my tongue

poked, I can handle this.”

“And how

did

you handle that?” Quincy asked.

Blue’s face broke into a sheepish grin. “I blacked out for about five minutes. My head

started spinning, and then

bam

, everything went black.”

Quincy nodded with a knowing smile. “Gotta love that endorphin rush.”

He swabbed Blue’s left nipple with a cotton-tipped applicator soaked in antiseptic. At

the sight of Blue’s nipple stiffening in natural response, Derek felt a tinge of his own response

elsewhere. Shifting position, he leaned forward, hands dangling between his spread knees.

Stray wisps of hair, loosed from his ponytail, framed his vision as he took a closer look.

Quincy clamped Blue’s nipple with the forceps and offered a light tug, stretching the

pink nub of flesh. Derek attempted to remain a detached observer, but the mental image of

carrying out similar practices with his partner proved quite the turn-on.

Quincy took what looked like a wine cork and placed it on the left side of the clamp.

The cannula needle gleamed between his fingers.

“Take a deep breath” -- he instructed -- “and when you feel the prick, breathe out.”

Blue stared up at the ceiling, and his ribs expanded. With one swift push, Quincy

forced the needle through the base of Blue’s nipple and into the cork. As Blue’s lungs

deflated, Quincy retracted the needle, leaving the hollow plastic cannula in place. In one

efficient, practiced movement, Quincy removed the clamps, then used the cannula to pull

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

the shiny silver hoop through the hole. The piercing complete, he fit the black captive bead

into place.

Blue frowned down at his new accessory. “You’re done?”

“On that side, yeah,” said Quincy, prepping Blue’s other nipple.

“Wow, I can’t even feel it. I --” His frown deepened, and he sucked in his breath. His

eyes watered and his face, already pale, positively blanched. “Shit,” he said, lip trembling.

“Maybe I do feel it.”

“Does it hurt?” Derek asked coolly.

“It, um…I don’t know. I’m --” He looked over Quincy’s head and mouthed the next

words.

I’m hard

Derek shifted in his seat again.

You’re not the only one

, he thought. He’d researched

the procedure before bringing Blue to the piercing studio, and knew that some recipients

reported a jolt of sexual arousal. He just wished he could do more than observe, that he could

somehow share in the experience with Blue to make it less clinical and more…intimate.

Inspiration struck. He cleared his throat and sat straight. “I’ll pierce the other one.”

Quincy paused and peered back over his shoulder. “Dude, I can’t let you do that.”

“I’ll pay extra, under the table,” Derek offered. “You can guide me through it.”

Quincy wheeled around on his seat and scrutinized him. “No, really, I can’t. You might

hurt him.” He raised his eyebrows and added, “As in, hurt him in a

bad

way.”

Derek’s gaze shifted to Blue, who peered back at him, his eyes swimming with

endorphins. The chemistry in the air simmered between them.

Blue licked his lips and spoke. “I trust him.”

Quincy pursed his mouth in a tight, thin line as he cast a nervous glance toward the

door. He looked back at Derek, then at Blue. His features relaxed. Shaking his head, he

exhaled and set his equipment on the tray with a clatter.

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“You don’t have to bribe me,” he said, rising. “It’s not every day I get clients who get

this, um, you know,

into it

.” He went to the door and locked it, then nodded toward the

sink. “Wash your hands.”

Derek unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves as he crossed the floor to the sink.

Running the water as hot as he could stand it, he lathered his hands with disinfectant soap,

holding them steady despite the quiver in his stomach. As he dried his hands on a fresh paper

towel, he felt Blue’s stare searing into his backside. Turning, he was greeted with Quincy

stretching a sterile latex glove open toward him. He slid his fingers in and tugged it on fully

with an ominous

snap

With both hands gloved, he took a seat at the stool. Quincy stood behind him and

pointed. “You see where I’ve already marked the entry and exit points.”

Derek nodded as he took the forceps. He clamped them against Blue’s nipple, then gave

a little twist. Blue inhaled sharply and gripped the chair arms.

Quincy cleared his throat. “Um, okay, uh…here.” Leaning over, he pressed against

Derek’s backside. As their arms snaked together, Quincy’s tattoos made for an interesting,

colorful contrast against Derek’s neatly rolled sleeves. Touching Blue’s pec, he placed the

cork and the needle on either side of the clamps. “You promise me you aren’t a health

inspector?” he joked.

“God, do I look

that

uptight?” Derek asked, mindful of the hard body weighted against

him. The tattoo artist was built more compactly than he looked.

Quincy snorted, then quickly slipped into technical mode. “Okay, you need to keep the

needle right at the surface of the areola.” Their gloved hands briefly met as they switched

holds. Quincy braced his hands around Derek’s shoulders and pressed closer, his short,

stocky frame hard and firm against Derek’s upper back. While their joint endeavor

precipitated their closeness, the subtle shift in mood smacked of

ménage à trois

, enhancing

the intensity of the moment.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

Quincy’s breath puffed warm against Derek’s ear. “Hold steady, and make it quick.”

Derek glanced up at Blue. His heart melted at the sight of his beautiful charge staring

back at him with a mixture of trust, anticipation, and desire. On unspoken cue, Blue nodded

and inhaled. Derek breathed in with him and then, before he lost his nerve, jabbed the

needle through to the cork.

Blue uttered a sharp gasp, then threw his head back with a low groan. “

Oh, God

.”

Quincy swooped back in and took the reins. He withdrew the needle, leaving the

cannula in place, and traded the needle for the second hoop ring. “Okay, pull the ring

through,” he instructed, allowing Derek to finish the piercing.

The bead in place, Derek sat back and admired his handiwork. He pulled off the gloves

and passed them to Quincy, who promptly dropped them into the biohazard waste can.

Turning back to Blue, Derek rested his hand on the inside of the boy’s thigh. “How’d I

do?” he asked.

Blue smiled up at the ceiling, eyes closed. “It hurts better than the first one.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Derek leaned over and blew gently at the first nipple. Blue

emitted a hiss that quickly faded to a sigh.

Quincy cleared his throat and stood straight. “You need to watch him, in case he faints

like he says he did before. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

“Twenty,” Derek said, his gaze fixed on Blue. He slid his hand up, closer to the bulge

evident through Blue’s tight pants.

Blue lifted his head and peered over Derek’s shoulder. “Thank you, Quincy.” He

smiled, his mellow drawl reminiscent of a stoner under the influence.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Quincy said. “I’ll, um, lock the door on the way out.”

Once the door clicked shut, Derek started tugging at Blue’s waistband. In turn, Blue

squirmed to assist him, freeing his swollen cock. “Hurry” -- he murmured -- “before the rush

wears off.”

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“Hurry, what?” Derek teased, cupping him tightly by the balls.

“Sir. Please. Hurry.”

Derek leaned forward and took Blue into his mouth. In turn, Blue’s fingers twined in

his hair, pulling more strands loose from his ponytail.

“Oh, God, Derek. I mean, Sir --”

The boy’s plea was cut off with a sharp cry as Derek swallowed him whole. He held

Blue there a moment, waiting until his gag reflex threatened before sliding his tongue back

up the shaft to the head. He continued in this fashion until Blue let out a stifled cry, followed

by the taste of salt washing over the back of Derek’s tongue, the hot liquid spilling down his

throat.

Swallowing the last drop, he broke suction and rose. He reached under the table and

fiddled for the latch. With a

pop

, one leg rest dropped, then the other, the paper liner

rustling to the floor. As Blue’s calves dangled, his head lolled back and his jaw hung slack.

“Think…I

gonna faint…”

“Oh, no you’re not,” Derek warned, unbuckling his trousers, positioning himself

between Blue’s thighs.

He hooked Blue under the knees and bent his legs back, the boy’s limbs loose and

pliant, the pants stretched taut between his thighs. Grateful for the fact that natural anal

lubrication kicked in during orgasm -- and smug in the knowledge that he was educated on

such matters --Derek nudged the tip of his prick against Blue’s hole. With his muscles

already relaxed, Blue’s passage opened right up, swallowing Derek’s length in one swift, easy

slide. Derek grunted in approval, while Blue gasped in pleasure, a stray drop of cum left from

his climax pearling and beading at his slit.

While Derek preferred to take his time with sex, he knew Quincy would return all too

soon. He treated himself to a few slow, languid thrusts, enjoying the delicious tease of

friction against his shaft as he slid inside, inch by inch. Driving into Blue to the hilt, Derek

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

ground deeply with a pivot of his hips. Easing back out, he thrilled in the tug, unsheathing

his length to the fullest extent before plunging forward once more and burying himself in

Blue’s tight, slick heat.

Though Blue had already come, he stayed hard. Wriggling his ass, he squirmed and

writhed against Derek. Spurred on by Blue’s sexy, maddening moans, the kind that were so

often Derek’s undoing, he picked up the pace. Bracing himself, he pounded Blue’s ass with

quick, hard thrusts, the slap of flesh upon flesh punctuated by the sharp, ragged grunts which

he fought to contain.

“Oh, God,” Derek gasped, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. “Squeeze me.

Hard”

A long, low groan escaped him, and he surrendered, letting himself go, forgetting for a

moment all around him but the pulsating grip of his lover’s ass, focused only on the vision of

Blue lying back and gripping the chair arms, his face suffused with pleasure, his nipples

puffed and red with their shiny new rings, his cock swollen and flared.

Spent, Derek leaned over to catch his breath, his hands over Blue’s, his loose hair

hanging down. The ends of his strands brushed one of Blue’s nipples.

“

Ouch

.” Blue flinched and then pouted. “If we could go a little longer, I think you

could make me come again.”

Derek grinned down at him. “We’ll take care of that as soon as we get home. I’ll keep

you coming all night.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“A bit of both.”

Blue smiled back, his eyes more focused as he coasted down from his high. He curled

his upper torso, and their lips met. “So was that worth going a month without smoking?” he

asked between kisses.

“You tell me.”

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“I’d say it was. So what we gonna do after you’ve gone smoke-free a whole year?”

Derek’s heart skipped a beat. He thought back to the boy’s declaration from just a few

days before.

Only you…no one else…ever again

…

He kissed Blue once more. “Do you really plan to stick around that long?”

“Let’s see,” Blue said, his tone teasing. “Free piercings and hot sex? Hell, yeah, I’m

sticking around.”

Derek’s lips curved against Blue’s. “We’d better pull our pants up and change the paper

before Quincy gets back. We might give the poor guy a heart attack.”

“I don’t know,” said Blue. “I think it’s more like we gave him a boner. Think he’s a

gay?”

“Maybe bi,” Derek suggested.

Straightening, he reluctantly withdrew his cock from Blue’s warmth and tucked both

himself and his shirttails back into his pants. “I want him to go over proper care for your

piercings.” He buckled his belt, then took Blue by the hand and helped him stand. “You

aren’t to do anything to them yourself. I’ll take care of it. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Blue tugged his pants back up, then rose on tiptoe. Keeping a few inches

distance between their chests, he planted another kiss on Derek’s cheek. “I love you,” he

whispered.

Now it was Derek’s turn to go momentarily faint. He stared, dumbfounded and wide-

eyed. “Blue, I --” He snapped his jaw shut, lest Blue realize just how flummoxed he was.

I, what?

Derek thought. He’d meant to say it first. Eventually. When the time was

right, when the words came naturally…

A knock sounded at the door, followed by Quincy’s muffled voice. “Um, guys, I’ve got

another customer waiting.”

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Chapter Twelve

Blue sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the television, slurping the last few noodles

from his cup of ramen. He tossed the cup aside, where it landed in the small pile of crushed

orange soda cans next to the ramen cup he’d emptied two hours earlier. He took another

strawberry Pocky stick from the pink box at his knee and stuck it in his mouth. Buzzed on

sugar and carbs, sucking his Pocky like Derek would a cigarette, he picked up the video game

controller. He’d just hit level ten on the game and was on a roll. With one hand, he started

navigating his character through a cavern while with his other, he tapped the down arrow

on the laptop beside him and scrolled through the game hints. He glanced at the clock across

the room.

Derek had woken him before noon. After treating the piercings, he’d dressed Blue in

the usual tight jeans, but then offered Blue one of his shirts since it was roomier. Then he’d

made Blue assist him for a change as he’d selected one of his fancy suits from the closet.

“Lunch with a high-dollar client,” he’d explained as Blue had awkwardly knotted his

tie. “At times, I’m reduced to meeting these people face-to-face.”

Blue had held Derek’s jacket open as his master slid his arms into the satin-lined

sleeves. “About yesterday --” he’d started to say, but Derek had dismissed him with a wave of

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

101

his hand and the promise they’d discuss Blue’s confession when he returned later that

afternoon.

Blue knew he’d gone too far the day before, but between the hot, spontaneous sex, and

the infusion of endorphins, he’d been caught up in the moment and just blurted it out.

Yet now that his feelings were out in the open, Derek’s reticence perplexed him -- and

worried him. Certainly, he knew that Derek had feelings for him, ones of possession,

protection, tinged with a touch of affection. But there was no guarantee his place in Derek’s

life extended beyond that of cherished plaything, nor was there any promise that their

arrangement would prove long-term.

Not that Blue minded being cherished, and he quite enjoyed his role as Derek’s pet. But

still, he wanted more. His heart demanded that he hear the words,

love you, too

, to put a

name to the intense bond that they shared, backed by a vow of

forever

to confirm their

relationship wasn’t just some passing fling.

The intercom buzzer sounded. Startled, Blue paused the game and dropped the

controller. With a pang of panicked guilt, he tabbed the laptop to the browser window with

the website entry on

dacryphilia

. Hurriedly, he closed it out.

On his way to the door, he bent down to scoop up the empty cans, then stopped,

realizing there’d be no reason for Derek to buzz the door. Kicking a can aside, he went to the

speaker and pushed the talk button. “Yeah?” he mumbled around the Pocky, the biscuit stick

bobbing with his words.

A throat cleared, then a male voice piped back in response. “Pizza delivery for Shane.”

Shane?

“I didn’t order any pizza.”

The caller hesitated, clearing his throat again. “Call was made by a, um…Derek Graves.

He’s already paid for it on his credit card.”

“Oh, okay. Bring it on up.” Shrugging, Blue punched in the security code, which Derek

had scribbled for him on a sticky note, to bypass the locks on the lobby entrance.

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So Derek had thought of him while he was out. That was nice to know, particularly

since two cups of starch-laden ramen could only sustain his metabolism so far. But

Shane?

What was up with the sudden propriety?

Minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Blue squinted with one eye through the

peephole, verifying that a uniformed delivery boy with two pizzas stacked in his arms waited

outside. He punched in Derek’s private code and opened the door.

As he took the pizzas, it took him a moment to register the other man’s blanched face,

the abject fear in his eyes.

What the fuck? He looks like he’s about to piss his pants

…

From the corner of his eye, he caught a blur of motion. A loud

crack

sounded, and the

pizza boy crumpled to the floor. In his place stood a tall man, gun in hand from where he’d

just pistol-whipped his unwitting accomplice in the back of the skull.

Just yesterday, before they’d gone to the tattoo parlor, Derek had assured Blue the man

from the club was still in the hospital. With the bastard recovering from a major concussion,

they’d both assumed he’d be laid up longer.

They’d been wrong.

The guy didn’t look so good. Gone were the long blond waves, his hair shorn in a stiff

crew cut. His broken nose had been set crookedly, and one eye had been permanently

scarred at the corner. And the look on his face no longer bore any polite pretense, the

sadistic predator in him showing through, dark as night, plain as day.

In the split second that Blue’s brain comprehended all this, the Pocky stick snapped

between his teeth and fell to the floor. He dropped the pizzas and moved to shut the door,

but he didn’t act fast enough. He stumbled back as the door burst open against him. Catching

himself, he turned to run…

Where?

The bathroom. He could lock the door. No, the man would just kick it in.

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

103

The balcony. He could yell for help, maybe the neighbors would hear. Or hell, he

could drop down, the deck one floor below jutted out just a bit farther than Derek’s…

A hand clutched his shirt, jerking him back, tearing the sleeve. The breath rushed from

Blue’s lungs as an arm wrapped around him from behind. On instinct, Blue began to twist, to

kick, to claw, then stopped. His heart lodged roughly somewhere in his throat at the click of

the trigger and the cold, hard steel pressed to his temple.

“What do you want?” Blue wheezed, clutching at the forearm that crushed against his

windpipe.

“To finish what we started,” the blond whispered roughly, the words slithering from

his mouth like the vile hiss of a serpent.

“But how --” Blue started to ask, but the hold on his throat tightened.

“How did I find you?” the stranger asked, finishing Blue’s question. “Your daddy’s been

keeping up with you. Known where you were the whole time. So has Vito. That bastard,

leaving me in the hospital to rot while he got a nightclub out of the deal.”

Vito?

Blue tried to ask, but with the pressure against his windpipe, he was unable to

speak.

The blond dragged Blue to the door, the gun still denting his temple. “Yeah, Vito ate

those pills like candy. But don’t worry. I’ve got something better for you. Same stuff I used

on your pretty boy. I had him moaning and begging all night.” The blond jerked against

Blue’s throat in emphasis. “Did your boyfriend tell you that? How he stayed hard the whole

time I pounded that tight ass of his raw?”

“

You fucker

,” Blue managed to croak, the light in the room beginning to dim from lack

of air. He elbowed the blond in the ribs, kicked his feet back into the man’s shins. He had no

idea what this asshole meant about Derek, but he’d be damned if he was going to be drugged

and raped. He’d just as soon get shot in the head and be done with it.

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The gun left his temple. Before he could react or take advantage, a sharp prick stung

directly beneath his jaw line, followed by a burning stream of sensation coursing down the

vein of his throat. His captor released him, letting him drop to the floor. Blue tried to stand,

but his limbs had turned to rubber.

Blue’s head spun now, his peripheral vision going black. Through the tunnel view, he

made out the blond leering at him, holding something sharp and shiny between his fingers.

The man’s mouth moved. Seconds later, his voice echoed. “I learned lotsa new tricks when I

was in the hospital.”

“Derek.” Blue felt, rather than heard, his lover’s name escape his lips. Then the floor

dropped, and he tumbled down the rabbit hole into dark oblivion.

* * * * *

The smooth-voiced DJ announced rain in the forecast. Derek punched through the

programmed radio stations and found one playing music. Blue had introduced him to some

newer bands, and he had to admit, some of them weren’t bad -- like the one whose song now

filled the Porsche, their sound hearkening back to the heyday of punk. Thrumming his

fingertips in time to the beat, he wheeled sharply around the curved exit ramp and merged

onto the four-lane street. He passed the bus station and the McDonald’s kiosk, then braked at

the red light, the intersection dominated on all corners by tall glass skyscrapers. Another

block down, high-priced department stores adjoined Art Deco-era civic buildings. He drove

by a small city park, replete with donated shrubbery, benches, and a wishing fountain, then

entered a short overpass tunnel, the walls painted with colorful murals by local artists to

discourage graffiti.

Leaving the tunnel, the street narrowed to two lanes and gave way to a cluster of cast-

iron storefronts, the sidewalks lined by Corinthian columns. The old buildings housed

nightclubs, art galleries, antique stores, and ethnic restaurants, their owners living on the

floors above. A red-poled barbershop with 1950s pump seats still offered an old-fashioned

Blue Ruin 1: Some Kind of Stranger

105

shave with a straight razor. Two second-hand clothing boutiques catered to the alternative

scene, one labeled

thrift

and cheap, the other termed

vintage

and overpriced. Ironically, a

vegetarian café shared the same building as the only fresh butcher mart in town.

He cruised past the tattoo parlor. Quincy stood outside in all his punk rock glory,

propped against a green paint-flecked column as he enjoyed a smoke. He nodded toward

Derek, and Derek nodded back. Even before he’d brought Blue to the studio, he and Quincy

had often exchanged pleasantries. But then a certain sense of camaraderie existed among

those who had chosen to live and work in the bohemian district.

The area had once comprised both the trolley yard and the garment district, making it

nigh impossible to navigate a horse and cart through the streets.

Jericho Pass

, a Jewish

shopkeeper had jokingly called it, and the name had stuck. Rivaled only in the city by its

rainbow counterpart, Oakwood, the neighborhood reminded Derek of the one he’d grown

up in back in the East Village; yet Jericho Pass was a world away from Manhattan. And that

was fine by him. Derek had left home to carve out his own niche in the world, independent

of his parents. Granted, their cosmopolitan influence had stuck with him, but his lifestyle

had certainly proved more responsible.

And lucrative

, he thought, as he crossed a row of disused trolley tracks, purposely left

unpaved, and entered the upscale all-residential zone of the district. Here, the old trolley

depot had been converted into high-priced condos, a hat factory refurbished to house in-

demand artist lofts. And then there was his building. Erected in just the past decade, on the

foundation of a razed warehouse, the designers had jumped on the trend of luring hip, young

suburbanites to inner city living. Bearing the aesthetics of its targeted market in mind, the

twenty story structure blended mocha stucco walls with off-white alcoves, simple lines

balanced by smooth curves, paned glass on one floor, block glass on another.

Home

, he thought with pride. Not bad for a high-school dropout hacker who’d gone on

to stake his claim in the technology field without ever setting foot inside MIT. And now he

had someone to share that home with.

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Katrina Strauss

Derek smiled as he thought of his blue-haired waif. He glanced at the passenger seat, at

the bottle of wine for himself, melon soda from the Japanese grocer for Blue, the expensive

takeout dinner, and various bags and packages -- more clothes, new video games, an entire

carton of strawberry Pocky, and bath goods leaning toward the sensual.

Yes, a candlelit bath would be perfect in creating the proper mood, the right

atmosphere, before reciprocating Blue’s confession from the day before, in a moment that the

words would flow naturally and not come off as contrived. He had never said such words to

anyone before, and never planned to say them to another. As he envisioned Blue’s

anticipated reaction, his heart swelled with love, an emotion which almost pained him but

that he was willing to get used to if it meant Blue would be his forever.

His thoughts broke and his heart stopped as he pulled up to the underground garage

entrance. Two police cars and an ambulance were parked at the curb, a pair of white-coated

medics rolling someone out on a stretcher while an officer held the lobby door open. Derek

rolled down his window and peered at the figure lying prone on the stretcher. Relieved to

see the white sheet stopped at their chest, he was further grateful to spy a head full of brown

curls and a striped pizza delivery shirt.

But as he stepped into the elevator, laden with packages, his sense of dread stayed with

him. As the elevator ascended, his worry inexplicably deepened.

Reaching the fifteenth floor, he burst from the elevator and nearly slammed into Sadie.

She stopped him, bracing her hands against his shoulders, and peered around behind him,

her face pinched with worry. She fixed her eyes back on his. Her simple question stabbed his

gut like a knife.

“Blue isn’t with you?”

Dropping his wares, he pushed past her and stormed down the hall. The apartment

door stood open. Two uniformed officers blocked his path.

“I live here,” he growled.

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107

“Let him in,” a commanding voice, vaguely familiar, beckoned from inside.

Derek entered the loft, sidestepping the mess of half-opened pizza slung on the floor.

Something crunched under his shoe. He looked down at the broken Pocky stick, which told

him more than he wanted to know.

In a daze, his pulse pounding in his ears, he kicked his way through a scattering of

orange soda cans. A gray-haired gentleman in a smart brown suit sat on the sofa, his hands

clutched between his knees. From his hands dangled a clear, zipped evidence bag. In the bag

was a hypodermic needle.

The man rose. In person, District Attorney James McGowan appeared shorter and

stouter than he did on television, but he still cut a formidable figure. “Give us a moment,” he

told the officers.

Once the door clicked shut, Derek’s shock lifted and he was on McGowan, jerking him

up by the lapels of his jacket. The needle clattered to the floor.

“Where the fuck is he?” he snarled. “You know who has him.”

“I don’t know, Graves,” the DA answered, jerking away. Slick, calm, he straightened

his jacket, but Derek saw his ice-cold eyes waver. “He walked out of the hospital

unannounced, and managed to shake our tail. Nelson’s already sent a squad over to his

apartment. No one is there. I --” His posture momentarily deflated, and he dropped the act.

“I don’t know where he took Shane.”

Derek ran his hand through his hair, then rubbed his face. He walked to the balcony

door and stared through the gauze curtains. Fumbling in his pocket, he took out a cigarette

and his lighter. He lit one up and inhaled deeply, his lungs readily welcoming the smoke.

Think

, Derek told himself. Where else would that asshole have taken Blue?

He whirled around and faced McGowan. He pointed a finger, stabbing the air with his

cigarette. “If anything happens to Blue --

anything

-- I’m going to the press --

legitimate

press, who’ll expose you for the lying, manipulative son of a bitch that you are.”

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McGowan met Derek’s gaze, his tone level. “You are just as much a part of this as I am.

You took matters into your own hands, and then left the mess for me to clean up.”

Derek stared at him, dumbfounded. He took another drag of his cigarette, a long, harsh

drag, the paper crackling madly, the cherry gone violent red. He exhaled, a dense plume of

smoke streaming from his mouth and clouding the air.

“What are you talking about?” he asked carefully, more smoke puffing from his mouth

before it was fully expelled.

McGowan sat back down. “Blue Ruin is installed with surveillance cameras. Nelson let

me see the footage. We saw the perpetrator leave the club with Blue, and you barreling after

them. We went back through the tapes, and know that a few weeks before, he’d left the club

with

you

.” He looked at Derek squarely, and his tone grew sharp, offering no sympathy, only

accusation. “There were others before you, Graves. They came to the police, like you should

have.”

“Police who don’t give a shit,” Derek spat, flustered.

So someone knew his secret,

someone knew he’d been a victim, too

… “Because of you and this hostile atmosphere you’ve

perpetuated.”

“I won’t deny that I’ve had misunderstandings with the Oakwood community,” said

McGowan. “But crime is crime, and victims deserve justice. We were building a case, to

catch him in the act, and put him away for good. Until your interference jeopardized the

investigation.”

“You want to talk about cleaning up other people’s messes?” Derek asked, one fist

balled at his side.

No one was supposed to know what had happened…not even Blue, he

could never tell Blue

… “What do you think I’ve been doing with your son this past month?

Your son who you threw out on the street!”

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“I told him to leave in a moment of anger, yes!” McGowan admitted. “But then I

stopped him before he walked out the door, asked him to sit down so we could talk more

rationally, but he told me to

fuck off

and left anyway.”

“Can you blame him?” Derek asked. Yet inwardly, he had to concede that he’d only

heard Blue’s side of the story.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” said McGowan, his tone gone quiet again. “I figured he’d stay

gone for a week, tops, but I underestimated his stubbornness. Then reports started coming in

of a predator in Oakwood. I sent one of our undercover officers in to find Shane, to make

sure he --” He stopped and stared at the television, Blue’s video game still sitting on

pause

“To make sure he was okay. That’s how I learned he’d been working at Blue Ruin. That’s

how I know he was nearly taken that night.”

“And you’ve been doing your damnedest to keep your name out of it since,” said Derek.

“

!” McGowan snapped, whipping his head back around, looking like he’d just taken

a bullet. “No,” he repeated, his voice lowered. “I’ve been doing my best to keep my

son’s

name out of it.”

“Yeah?” said Derek. “Well, it’s too little, too late.”

Angry, as much at himself as he was at McGowan, or at the bastard who had Blue,

Derek opened the balcony doors and stepped outside. He stared into the distance, at the

gathering storm clouds looming on the horizon just beyond the skyscrapers. A jagged bolt of

lightning streaked across the darkening sky.

He took another drag of his smoke. As his mind cleared, he remembered why he’d

started smoking; as his lungs burned, he remembered why he’d quit. He took one more drag,

for good measure, then stopped at the table to stub it out, only to find the ashtray missing.

Blue must have put it away somewhere or, knowing him, just thrown it out. At the thought

of this gesture on Blue’s part, Derek’s stomach dropped, his knees threatening to give.

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Get a grip

, he reminded himself.

You have to think

. He began pacing, unable to stand

still.

This guy was pissed, enough that he’d tracked them down and come back for Blue. Who

else did he have a score to settle with?

Derek halted, his mind adding a new piece to the puzzle that had plagued him since his

talk with Sadie. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. He rushed back inside.

“Vito was the undercover cop, wasn’t he? He’s blackmailing you.”

McGowan studied him a moment, a bare flicker of surprise behind his steely eyes.

“Vito is a separate situation…”

“Are you so sure they’re separate? Where the fuck is Vito?”

“He’s moved in above Blue Ruin.” McGowan’s face lit in realization. He pulled his cell

phone from his pocket. “I’m calling Nelson.”

Derek rose and started for the door. “Tell him I need a few of his best men to back me

up. That asshole is mine.”

“You can’t…”

Derek stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and turned round.

“What do you think he’s going to do if he looks out the window and sees just one squad

car pull up?”

“But --” He paused, then spoke rapidly. “Nelson, I need your best SWAT over at Second

and Elm. They’re to stay concealed until further instruction. I -- what?” His face went white.

“Holy Christ.” He hung up the phone and started toward Derek. “Blue Ruin is on fire.”

“What?” Derek asked, freezing midstep between the two policemen. Sadie stood there,

holding the packages he’d dropped earlier, her expression weighted with concern. “Let her

in,” he told the officers. “Thanks,” he told Sadie, brushing past her as he willed his legs to

move. “Just dump them on the table.”

“Derek, why is the DA here?” she called after him.

“I’ll explain later.”

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Chapter Thirteen

Blue’s consciousness gradually returned, slipping in and out of a murky haze, while his

body remained detached and unfeeling.

Where was he?

He felt like he’d been sleeping, but he wasn’t in bed. He wasn’t sure if

he was even lying down, as he received the distinct impression that he was in a vertical

position and…

hanging?

He tried to remember what he’d last been doing. He’d been at home, playing a game,

waiting for Derek…

Blue listened for clues. In the distance sirens echoed, backed by what he thought to be

a rumble of thunder. He sniffed the air: dank, dusty, and beneath that, a hint of smoke,

charred wood, like a fireplace.

Something burning nearby

…

He felt his feet first, bare and cramped, his soles planted against some rough, gritty

surface. The feeling returned to his legs, sending sharp pangs through his calves and thighs.

The pain darted up his spine, his back muscles cricking in violent spasm. Groaning, he

waited for the agonizing sensation to creep up his arms and into his hands which, he

deduced from the position of his cramped shoulders, were bound up and behind him,

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113

suspended from the wrists. His arms, however, remained numb, a fact for which Blue was

uncertain whether to be grateful or alarmed.

He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t budge. He attempted to open his mouth

and realized his jaw already hung slack. He started to yell, but only a muffled, hoarse cry

emerged through what felt like a wad of cloth stuffed inside his mouth.

At long last, his eyelids fluttered. Through his hair, damp from sweat and matted at his

brow, he stared down his bare torso. Focusing, his eyes drifted down. He realized he was still

wearing jeans.

Well, thank God for small favors

, he thought wryly.

He lifted his heavy head, the simple effort a sheer force of will, and his gaze drifted

across the floor. Just past his feet, his sights landed on a gas lantern, spotlighting a patch of

dust-coated wooden planks. In the dim circle lay a scattering of photographs -- Polaroids --

of naked men, restrained in various bondage positions. Some had been gagged, others

blindfolded; a few of them, both. Some of the men had erections, while others were in a state

of half arousal or completely flaccid.

In the center of the sordid display, three photographs depicted a handsome man with a

lean, pale body, his face framed by shoulder-length auburn hair. Kneeling at the foot of a

bed, his wrists bound to the rails, a closer image revealed his full state of arousal, his features

strained with an intense look of ecstasy. Yet in the closest image, the glazed look in his eyes

bespoke confusion, panic, and fear. The veins of his throat stood out against the black belt

tightened around his neck, his teeth bared in a desperate grimace. Just looking at the picture,

Blue could almost hear the drugged man gasping for air, unable to breathe, unable to flee.

Oh, God, no. Not him, not Derek. That was why…that was why

…

Blue lifted his head higher and peered into the shadows. Another siren sounded,

drawing closer. The floor rumbled, and a loud engine raced by, the room illuminated briefly

by a flash of red light. Blue caught a glimpse of a triangular space, of boxes, trunks, and

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wooden rafters, a trap door set in the floor.

An attic, in some old house, the siren lights

flashing through the slats of the gable vent

…

As the siren faded, a figure emerged from the shadows and stepped into the light. Blue

stared straight into the eyes of his captor. Every ounce of hatred he could muster, he directed

at the blond, telling him with his eyes what he couldn’t say with words.

You bastard. He’ll kill you this time

The blond smiled, a sweet, sickening smile, and advanced toward him, a fresh syringe

in hand.

* * * * *

The scene at Blue Ruin could be described, at best, as organized chaos. With the flames

extinguished, the firefighters had already brought out one body from the charred, sodden

mess. It was bagged in black, but judging by the bulk of it, Derek knew the corpse to be

Vito’s. He suspected the pathologist would find the behemoth had already been dead when

the fire started.

Derek whirled around at the hand on his shoulder. McGowan stood there, grim-faced.

“The Eldorado’s parked in back. Nobody’s in it.” He gestured toward Derek’s cigarette. “Give

me one of those.”

Derek did so, offering him a light. McGowan inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a

cough. “God, I remember why I quit these things.”

“Anything else?” Derek prodded.

On the second drag, McGowan exhaled smoothly. “The Chief Inspector’s done a quick

survey. Of course, he can’t make an official statement until a thorough inspection has been

done in the morning.”

“Cut the crap, McGowan. You and I both know you’ve got half the city in your pocket.

What did he tell you?”

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115

The DA evaded his gaze. “The fire was most likely set by hand. It doesn’t appear to

have been a timed explosion.”

“You’ve got them looking for a second body, don’t you?”

McGowan nodded mutely, staring at the remains of the club, his face pensive as he

continued nursing the cigarette. Derek’s knees trembled, his vision blurring. He started

pacing.

Think, Derek. Get inside his head

…

The blond had killed Vito out of revenge, for cashing in on his misery and his failure,

getting a new club and early retirement out of the deal while his accomplice had lain beaten

and unconscious in the hospital. But Blue -- he would want to keep Blue for a while,

wouldn’t he? To finish what he’d started. Which meant he’d left Blue somewhere first, then

driven to the bar…

And that the fire was meant to serve as more than a cover for Vito’s death -- it had

been meant to serve as a distraction.

“That asshole is holed up somewhere nearby,” Derek muttered to himself.

Swiftly, he wove his way through various fire and rescue personnel and ducked under

the yellow ribbon. He paced down the sidewalk several feet, then looked up and down the

road.

Derek was not one for spirituality, but in a moment of desperation, he sent out a silent

plea.

B ue, i the e i some way, any way, tha you can hea me, I need a s gn, I need to know

where you are

r s

A volley of lightning fixed his attention to the east. A few blocks down, the perpetual

For Sale

sign planted at one house in particular caught the red play of siren light.

He tossed his cigarette into the gutter, the cherry hissing in the drainage from the fire

hoses. He started walking, then broke into a run.

“Graves!

Wait

!” called McGowan, his footsteps pounding behind. “Not by yourself!”

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Derek ignored him. With his long-legged gait, he tore through a small crowd of curious

onlookers who’d congregated alongside the shop fronts, the rainbow flags fluttering

overhead in the night breeze. Passing the last of the shops, he crossed the street. Winded, his

heart slamming against his sternum, he kept going.

He bolted across the front yard of the ugly, forlorn Chicken Coop. Praying, with every

ounce of his being, that his hunch was right and Blue was inside the abandoned yellow

house, he slipped through the bushes, back against the paint-flecked wall, looking for a way

in. He tried raising one of the old-fashioned sash windows, but it stuck tight. Easing around

back, he lifted the latch on the chain link gate and opened it quickly, barely making a

squeak. Climbing the back stoop, he tried the door on the off-chance it might be open, but

found it locked. He’d have to break one of the small windowpanes on the door. The slightest

noise might alert anyone in the house, so he’d have to move fast.

A shadow moved in the periphery of his vision. “Step aside!” a voice whispered

urgently from the bushes.

Ignoring the SWAT officer, Derek bent his elbow in place and shattered the glass with

a swift jab. Guided by instinct, fueled by adrenaline, he burst into the house.

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Chapter Fourteen

“You know you want it.” Foul, fetid breath trailed down Blue’s throat. “See how hard

you are for me.”

No, I don’t!

Blue wanted to scream. If not for the gag in his mouth, he would have spit

in the man’s face. Or better yet, clamped his teeth down on the asshole’s ear and started

tearing.

But he was helpless to do anything.

The fucker had given him another injection, one that lowered his resistance and

enhanced his libido. To both his shame and horror, Blue had gone erect at the feel of fingers

teasing his nipple rings, at the unwanted hand rubbing his crotch, the sensations physically

pleasant even as he turned his head away and wanted to vomit.

Scared, humiliated, Blue fought back tears. He had no control over what was being

done to him, couldn’t fight the effects of the chemical aphrodisiac, but he refused to give the

asshole the satisfaction of seeing him cry. In that regard, he retained control; only Derek had

ever borne witness to his tears.

Oh, God, Derek

, he thought, sending his lover a silent message.

No matter what he

does to me, I love you. If I never see you again, I love you

…

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The blond stepped around him. Digging his claws in, he thrust and ground against

Blue’s ass. Sick waves of revulsion rippled through Blue, even as his body betrayed him and

his hips bucked back to meet his captor.

“Yeah, you like that,” the blond goaded him. “In a few more minutes, I’ll take that gag

out. I’ve got a tape recorder running over there. Gonna record the whole thing, and then

send it to your pretty boy.”

As the drug coursed through his veins, Blue grew more agitated. His flesh crawled, his

pulse sped up, the tempo of his breath coming harder and faster. With his mouth gagged, he

could only draw air in through his nose. Unable to keep up with his lungs, his head began to

spin. All this, and his erection had grown unbearably swollen. He heard the teeth of the

blond’s zipper open, the rustle of fabric sliding down flesh. As the man tugged at his jeans,

Blue found himself wriggling to help, his cock aching to be released from the confines of the

tight denim.

No, I don’t want this!

some deep, logical part of him screamed. And whatever turned

up on that tape, he knew Derek would know the truth.

He heard his blood pounding in his ears now. His nerves tingled, his chest tightened,

and the beat intensified, the throbbing in his head melding into the droning hum of an angry

hornets’ nest. His ears popped, and his vision was flooded by white, blinding light.

Too

much, he gave me too much. I’m going to die…oh, God, Derek, I’m going to

…

From somewhere, a loud click sounded, like a latch being released. “No!” the blond

hissed, the voice distant, echoing.

He felt the man jerk away, and something rushed past him, a furious, unstoppable

force. Then the room began to spin. He collapsed, throwing the strain of his weight back to

his shoulders. His ribs constricted, and the bright light faded. For the second time that night,

Blue’s world went black.

* * * * *

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119

In the moment that he’d seen his lover, bound and helpless in strappado fashion, with a

rag stuffed in his mouth and his pants halfway down, Derek knew only blind fury.

Taking him had been one thing. Taking the one who belonged to him was another.

Derek tightened his grip, his fingertips sinking deeper into the flesh of the blond’s

throat. The man struggled beneath him, pinned between Derek’s thighs. He clawed at

Derek’s wrists, his mouth rounded in a silent cry, eyes bulging, veins popping. Nearby, the

gun lay where Derek had knocked it from his hand.

“See what it’s like, fucker,” Derek sneered down at him, slamming the back of the

bastard’s skull against the floor for good measure. “See what it’s like to have no say.”

Footsteps sounded up the attic stairs, across the attic floor. “Let him go!” a voice

bellowed from behind. “We’ve got him. Let him go!”

More footsteps, another voice. “Help me get him down. I don’t think he’s breathing.”

At that, Derek returned to his senses and released his hold. As the blood drained from

the blond’s face, his eyes rolled back, his head lolling to the side.

In a flash, Derek was behind Blue, supporting him. The SWAT officer produced a knife

and began sawing at the leather straps around Blue’s arms. With the weight off his chest, and

the gag removed from his mouth, Blue gasped with a sharp, high-pitched wheeze, then

belted a hoarse, rattling cough -- music to Derek’s ears.

The ligatures cut, Blue dropped, but Derek held steady, absorbing the weight of his fall.

He hefted Blue in his arms, the boy’s limbs dangling like a rag doll’s, and rushed him down

the stairs. Bursting into the front yard, Derek dropped to his knees in the grass. He propped

Blue up in front of him. He slipped out of his jacket, one sleeve at a time, switching arms to

keep Blue upright. Gently, he draped the jacket around Blue’s shoulders. A fine drizzle of

rain blanketed them.

He shook his lover gently, patted him on the cheek. “Blue? Can you hear me?”

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Blue’s eyes fluttered, his lashes catching droplets of mist. “Hey,” his lips curved in a

light smile, his voice a faint rasp. “Gotta stop…meeting like this…”

Derek pressed his brow to Blue’s. “

Brat

,” he started to say, but the word caught in his

throat, and he couldn’t speak, only look, and hold, and caress, his hands moving gently

beneath the jacket, easing the circulation back into Blue’s arms.

“Derek,” the boy mumbled. “He gave me something. It made me hard…”

“

Shhh

, I know. I know.”

“All I could think about was you…how I’d said I was only yours, forever…”

“Blue, I know. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused, allowing himself a moment to absorb

the meaning of what he’d just said, of the words he’d been unable to say to himself. He

cupped Blue’s chin, tilting his face, catching his slightly unfocused gaze. “It wasn’t your

fault,” he repeated, soft, but stern.

Three police cars screeched up to the curb. As uniformed officers swarmed across the

yard, McGowan emerged from one of the passenger doors. He came and knelt beside Derek

and Blue.

“Dad?” Blue croaked, brow furrowed. Surprise quickly faded to suspicion. “What are

you doing here?”

“He helped me find you tonight,” Derek explained.

Gunshots sounded from the house, causing the three of them to jump.

“Get him out of here,” McGowan snapped, rising, helping Derek lift Blue to his feet.

Derek started to slide an arm behind Blue’s knees, to carry him, but Blue shook his head in

protest.

“No,” he rasped. “I can walk. Just…help me.”

Blue huddled against him. Derek resisted the urge to hug him tight, mindful of the fact

that the muscles of his upper back were likely sore, possibly damaged, from being bound in

such a strained position. Instead, he cradled Blue and supported him under the arms. With

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effort, Blue wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist, wincing at each movement, and then

latched onto him.

As more officers arrived, McGowan ushered them away from the house. Blue took a

few awkward, uneasy steps, gaining strength and confidence as they began down the

dampening sidewalk.

“Keep moving,” Derek urged softly, guiding him across the street, watching for any

sharp objects on the pavement which might injure Blue’s bare feet. He really would have

preferred to carry Blue, but he knew that right now, his lover’s pride counted as much as his

physical well-being.

They reached the opposite curb. An ambulance rushed by, heading for the house.

McGowan piped in. “There are medics down the street. They need to look you over.”

“No,” Blue said, burrowing closer to Derek. “I’m all right. I just want to go home.”

“Your father’s right,” said Derek. “It’s okay. I’ll stay close by.”

They wove their way through gawkers who, bored with the fire, were wandering back

down the street to catch a glimpse of the newest development. As they approached the

Porsche, a well-built black man with close-cropped hair, dressed in a tank top, pajama

bottoms, and fuzzy slippers, broke from the crowd and accosted Derek.

“Oh, honey, isn’t this just awful!” he sniffed, dabbing his tear-swollen face with a

handkerchief. He turned his attention to Blue. “And where have you been, Miss Thang? You

look like shit warmed over!”

It took Derek a moment to recognize Miss Doreena Dee Vine sans the breasts, makeup,

and platform heels. “Make yourself useful,” he growled. “Go get one of the medics before

they head down the street.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” said Doreena, or whatever he called himself offstage. He glanced at

the District Attorney and did a double take. His tweezed eyebrows arched high, he looked

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back to Derek and cocked one hand at his hip. “What in the hell is

that

bitch doing here?

Humph

, probably started the fire!”

“

!” barked Derek.

“I’m going, I’m going, you impatient redheaded queen!” Doreena huffed, waving his

handkerchief, turning back toward what was left of the club. “Goodness, you try to be

helpful…”

Minutes later, Derek leaned against a tree and watched from close by as Blue perched

beneath his jacket on the hood of the Porsche, reluctantly obliging to a quick examination by

a young female medic. He mumbled in response as she shined a penlight in each of his eyes

and asked him a few questions. Nearby, McGowan sat in a police car, listening to the radio.

Suddenly, Blue’s eyes sparked. He sat straighter, apparently in heated debate with the

medic. She threw up her hands and started toward Derek. “I want to bring him in for

overnight observation, but he’s refusing.”

Blue slid from the hood and limped toward Derek, a scowl on his face. “You can’t make

me go.”

“Obviously, he’s feeling well enough to argue.” Derek stifled a smile and straightened

to meet him. He put an arm around Blue’s shoulder, thankful to see his partner’s stubborn

streak rear its head.

McGowan came up beside them. “He’s dead,” he announced brusquely in a low tone.

“He regained consciousness while one of our men was trying to handcuff him. He went for

the officer’s gun.”

“Can’t say as I’m all torn up about it,” Derek said. Quietly, he thanked whatever higher

power had aided him that night that there would be no court trial for Blue to endure.

“I prefer the judicial system to guns,” said McGowan. “But in this case” -- his gaze

transferred to Blue -- “I can’t say as I’m all that torn up over it, either.” He paused, eyes still

on his son. “Shane…your mother’s been worried about you.”

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123

“Well, you can tell her I’m okay,” Blue said stiffly, pressing closer to Derek.

“I’ll do that,” said McGowan. “I’ll tell her --” He glanced at Derek, then stared down

the street, shoving his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell her you’re in good

hands.” His eyes widened, but his tone remained neutral. “Shit. Press got past the barricade.

Get him home, Graves.”

With that, he ambled casually toward the white news van that had just pulled up at the

scene.

* * * * *

The headlights cut through the rain, now picked up to a steady drum against the roof of

the Porsche. The windshield wipers flicked back and forth in a lulling, hypnotic rhythm.

Blue sat quietly, huddled beneath his jacket in the passenger seat, while Derek took a

roundabout path through the neighborhood.

Just like that first night

, Derek thought,

the

night I found him, and brought him home

As he neared the frontage road, the enormity of the night’s events suddenly weighed in

on him. He had something to say, and on the chance that fate played another cruel twist and

they never made it home, he’d better say it now. Whipping the wheel, he veered onto a side

street and pulled over by an abandoned lot, under the eaves of a sprawling oak, away from

the glow of the streetlamp. He shut off the engine and pulled the key from the ignition. In

the dark, they were enveloped by the musical patter of rain as it dripped through the leaves

of the tree and down the car windows. Turning, Derek reached out and thumbed Blue’s chin.

“Blue,” he said. “I want you to understand…that there’s a new rule.”

“What’s that, Sir?” Blue asked, leaning into his hand, peering up at him quizzically.

“Don’t ever let me leave the house without doing this.” He leaned over and brushed his

lips over Blue’s. “Or without me saying this.” He kissed him again, under his ear, and then

whispered, “I love you.”

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“Yes, Sir,” Blue murmured against his chest. “I’ll do my best to stick to it.” His thin

frame shuddered and heaved. Hot tears soaked through Derek’s shirt, scorching his flesh,

firing his heart where it throbbed steadily beneath.

In turn, Derek buried his face in a wild nest of cobalt blue, nuzzling the beautiful

young man who’d stumbled into his life and proven the ruin of the defenses he’d long built

around himself. Quietly, he shed a few discreet tears of his own.

Katrina Strauss

Katrina Strauss discovered her love of romance with sneak peeks at her grandmother's

dog-eared, spine-worn paperbacks. Inspired to pen her own twist on the timeless genre of

romance, Katrina explores the darker side of love -- or, what one reader has dubbed

“Romance for the Black Coffee Crowd.”

Katrina resides with her husband and three children in the beautiful Sonoran Desert

near Phoenix, Arizona. When she's not immersed in writing, Katrina enjoys sewing, music,

anime, and entirely too much yaoi. To find out more about Katrina and her work, please visit

her author site at http://www.katrinastrauss.com/