Crux

[This story is the copyrighted property of Ardveche (c) 2000-2002 and may not be copied or distributed in whole or in part without permission. Any comments, suggestions, questions or requests should be emailed to ardveche@ardveche.com.]

CRUX ====

1. MATT

It had been a slow night. Not surprising, really. Three boys had turned up in dumpsters in the past two months, badly slashed and well and truly dead. Matt took a slow, disconsolate drag on his cigarette and stamped his feet to fight the cold. If anything, you would think that would increase trade, thinning out the competition, but all the usual suspects were in their accustomed spots, and the dead boys' patches had quickly been snapped up. It was the johns who were staying away, frightened of the psycho who apparently roamed the streets by night. What did they know about crazy? What did they know about fear? Matt was pissed, he owed money to Seb for the dope he'd scored, and all he'd managed so far was a miserable thirty bucks for a blow-job, bringing his cash total up to seventy dollars. Seb was not known for his compassion, if Matt couldn't find another hundred thirty dollars by four he was going to be hurting real bad by morning. Maybe even wishing he was one of the dumpster boys. He aimed a vicious kick at the lamp post.

"Settle down, babe, you'll scare them off, acting like a crazy," Stevie, a washed out 'colleague' said with a laugh. Stevie's thing was pain, he got off on it, or convinced the customer he did, which was more important. It was all he was good for now, nobody would want him for his looks, so he went that little bit further, provided that little bit more and, of course, charged that little bit extra. "Things'll pick up later on." Easy for him to say, he had a number of regulars who could be relied on when all else failed.

"Shut the fuck up, Stevie." Matt shot back and kicked the lamp post again, his voice betraying his Midwest upbringing. He'd been in the city for more than a year, on the streets. He'd finally had enough of his step-father using him as a punching bag and snapped, attacking him with a kitchen knife. He'd fled the trailer, his mother clutching her husband's bleeding form and screaming curses at Matt. He'd simply turned and run, taking nothing with him except, he later realized, the knife which was clutched in his hand. He threw it in the river and hitch-hiked out of there, never finding out if the guy lived or died, and not really caring. His hitching experience hadn't been as bad as he'd feared, he was only hit on once on the whole trip and had readily agreed to let the guy suck him off in exchange for a hot meal. He hadn't felt cheap, just hungry.

"How much you owe Seb?" Stevie asked, concern in his voice. Despite himself, he'd come to like Matt and tried to look out for him. But the kid wasn't doing so good lately, he was taking a lot of drugs and his fresh good looks, which had made him plenty of money when he first started pedaling his ass, were beginning to fade and fray at the edges. He was starting to look unshaven and unkempt now, and hungry and worn out. His hair was too long and looked unwashed and his once striking green eyes now seemed a little sunken, he carried a new air of resignation, of hopelessness. He wasn't making enough money to support his habit any more, and that meant he owed Seb. And that meant trouble.

"Too fucking much, how much d'you think?" The boy snarled.

"One dollar would be too much to owe Seb. Give me a number."

"I don't know. Maybe six hundred," Matt hung his head and scuffed his feet. His hands, which had been fidgeting with an empty matchbox were now thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans. "And he wants two hundred tonight."

"Christ, Matt. Six hundred dollars? For what?" Matt just scowled at him, they both knew for what. "Even you can't have used that much."

"I didn't. I was going to sell it to some of those Goth kids, make some money. They haven't a clue." Stevie allowed himself a little snort of laughter at that, Matt had hit the nail on the head. Rich kids playing games, trying to be cool for their rich buddies.

"So what went wrong?"

"I picked the wrong crowd," he shrugged eloquently, "knew their stuff. Took the dope, I ran. I was lucky I didn't get my ass kicked." The drugs were gone, and there was no money to pay for them, why should he take two beatings?

"How much you short tonight?" Stevie wanted to help the poor kid out, but there was no way he could find six hundred dollars.

"One hundred and thirty dollars." Matt enunciated each word slowly and clearly.

"You could make that in a night, babe." And it was true, a cute nineteen your old boy like Matt ought not to have had too much of a problem. But that was before the murders, and before he had started to look so worn and haggard. Luke might have been good for the money, he always paid generously, but he had lost interest in Matt since he'd developed his drug 'problem', besides Matt had seen him earlier with Adam, so that avenue was closed too.

"Yeah, right."

"Listen, I could let you have one of my regulars..." Stevie let his sentence hang. This wasn't something he would do for just anyone, he guarded his territory fiercely, he had to, it was dwindling faster than Matt's life expectancy. Matt made a disgusted sound and spat on the sidewalk.

"Yeah?" He knew what Stevie's regulars liked, he had to be nuts to even consider it. But it would probably be better than what Seb would do, he'd had people killed over smaller amounts of money. He sighed. "What'd I have to do?"

"I dunno, depends who's buying. I'll make some calls, see what I can do, yeah?" He looked intently at Matt, whose face was a mix of emotions, finally the boy nodded. "I'll make it as light as I can, babe. I swear." Matt nodded again but his eyes would not meet Stevie's.

Stevie dialed the first few digits carefully, glanced at his address book and punched the remaining ones in more swiftly. He cradled the phone between his head and shoulder as he fumbled the book back into his pocket. This was the last number he could try, none of his other regulars would do what he wanted them to. Matt was loitering by the phone booth, a cigarette in his hand, but he wasn't smoking it, he was nervously kicking an empty coke can back and forth. The last five calls had led to nothing and he was beginning to resign himself to his fate - whatever it might be. He felt a sick, twisting sensation in his gut as he contemplated some of the stories he'd heard about what happened to Seb's debtors. He considered running, but there was nowhere to go, and if, make that when, Seb caught him again he'd have to be 'made an example of'. He only half listened to Stevie's side of the conversation as he thought through his limited options.

"It's ringing, Matt," he paused. "Hello? Is that Mr. Allison?" Another pause. "Hello, Sir. It's Steven here." A longer pause in which Matt could dimly hear a raised voice at the other end of the line. "Yes, I know that, Sir, but I think I have something you might be interested in." At that point Matt stop listening and wandered a little further down the street. He stood for a while, transfixed by a blinking neon sign while Stevie worked out the details of the sale. Whatever it was they were agreeing, it wasn't going to be pleasant, how could it be with a man who thought of him as 'something' and not 'someone'? But what choice did he have? His cigarette burned out completely, unsmoked.

He was brought back to the present with a slight jolt by Stevie's hand on his shoulder. Turning to look at the harrowed face he saw instantly what he had both dreaded and hoped to see. Mr. Allison was interested.

"He'll meet us at the diner in forty minutes, Matt."

"Great."

"I'm sorry." Stevie squeezed the young man's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner, it had been so long since anyone had done it to him, though, that he couldn't be sure. Matt shrugged his hand off roughly.

"Might as well wait over there, then. At least it's warm." He started to cross the road without waiting to see if Stevie was following. On the far side, Clive, a fifteen year old redhead, was sliding into a car with some guy in a suit. The younger ones got all the trade these days. They took a booth in the warm, fluorescent-lit diner and ordered coffee. Matt lit another cigarette and looked fixedly at Stevie, waiting for him to speak. "So what am I in for?"

"He's not so bad, Matt." Stevie stopped to take a breath. He knew this was not what the boy (yes, a boy really, not a young man at all) was used to. As far as he knew Matt had never even been fucked, with his looks he could make money without having to. "His major trip is, um, objectification? He wants you to be a thing. He'll probably want you to wear a mask, and he won't want you to talk. Unless he asks you something." He paused as the waitress deposited two cups of coffee on the table, spilling much of their contents into the saucers. "When he does, you should call him 'sir', not his name."

"Fine. If that's what floats his boat." Matt ground the cigarette viciously into the ashtray then lifted his cup to allow him to pour the coffee back in from the saucer as he waited for Stevie to continue. If that had been the worst of it, there wouldn't have been any point to Stevie's obvious agitation.

"That's not all, babe. He likes to get a bit physical. If you do something wrong, and you will, he'll use a belt on you." That wasn't so bad either. Matt had spent most of the last ten years with a man who liked to get a 'bit physical' with his belt. "He'll want to tie you up, and he'll want to fuck you." The last sentence came out in a rush. "Normally you'd have to suck him, and that'd be it for lube, but I told him you were a virgin, so he's going to be a bit easier on you." He smiled apologetically at the boy sitting opposite him, but it appeared more a grimace.

"And all this for the princely sum of...?" Matt asked, his tone heavy with irony.

"I had to bring it down a bit, because you're inexperienced and because I called him, and not the other way round. So, not as much as normal."

"Normal? There's nothing fucking normal about this." Matt spat. "Just tell me how much."

"One fifty." Stevie winced in anticipation of Matt's response, but all the fight seemed to have gone out the boy.

"Fine." It was enough, just. It would get Seb off his back for a few days, but it was pathetic for what he was being asked to do. They sat in silence after that, there seemed to be nothing to say that could top Matt's 'fine'. Stevie started to speak a couple of times, but the look on his companion's face made him shut up again.

Stevie was facing the door, so he saw Allison enter first and sprang to his feet. Allison looked out of place in the diner in his expensive overcoat, underneath he wore a gray pinstripe suit and highly polished black shoes. His hair was dark, graying slightly and he was clean shaven, this was obviously a man who looked after himself. As he approached the table he pulled his gloves from his hands. He looked at Matt for a long time, the boy stared sullenly at the table and didn't raise his eyes to meet the other man's appraising gaze.

"This is him, is it?" Allison's voice was surprisingly soft as he addressed his question to Stevie, as though Matt was not even there.

"Yes, Sir. Matt." Stevie supplied.

"I don't care what his name is." It was stated flatly and Stevie could make no real response to it. The man reached out and, placing three fingers under Matt's chin, tilted his face upwards so he could see it more clearly. "You're very pretty, boy. But you stink." He let go of him and produced a pocket handkerchief on which he fastidiously wiped his fingers. With excessive care the man took a seat opposite Matt and Stevie. "You smoke?"

"Yes." Matt replied and was rewarded by a swift kick in the shins from Stevie whose eyes were flicking back and forth from Allison's to his.

"I hate the smell of smoke. You know what I require of you?"

"Yes. Sir." The second word was uttered with barely concealed disgust and the older man smiled thinly at Stevie.

"I like boys with a bit of spirit," a thin smile, "he'll do. Let's go." He rose immediately and waited for Matt to do the same. Eventually the boy slid reluctantly from the booth and drew himself up to his full height. He was still two inches shorter than Allison, and Matt was no lightweight. As he turned to go, Allison threw some bills on the table in front of Stevie and placing a now gloved hand on Matt's shoulder, steered him out of the diner. Matt compliantly allowed himself to be pushed all the way to the man's car without so much as a backward glance. Stevie watched them go, and with a sigh and a shake of his head slipped his half of the three hundred dollar price he had negotiated for Matt into his pocket.

"Some more coffee, and a chicken club." He called to the waitress as Allison's car pulled away from the diner. Maybe the transition from prostitute to pimp wasn't going to be so very hard after all, and what choice did he have if men just weren't interested in him any more? His conscience troubled him less than he had expected it to, especially as he could now eat his sandwich and then go home for the night.

Matt sat in silence in the warmth and comfort of the big car. Had he really been thinking, he would have assumed that that's what Allison would want, in truth he was simply silent through want of anything to say. He felt numb, weak and more than a little lost. How had things come to this? Running away from home had been the only choice open to him, prostitution had been the only choice open to him, but this was too much. Why on earth had he had to go and get himself involved with Seb? Everyone knew his reputation. At first Seb had seemed cool, kinda fun even in a dangerous way and it was great knowing that nobody would dare try anything stupid with Matt, while everyone thought he was Seb's boy. Little did they know that Seb was straight as a die (apparently getting blown by a boy didn't count), and would have killed anyone who suggested otherwise. And now Matt owed him six hundred dollars, the protection was gone and worse, Seb always collected one way or another.

"Where're we going?" Matt finally asked the silent figure beside him.

"An apartment I own." Was the simple answer. "Steven told you what I expected of you?"

"Yes."

"And you hate it." It wasn't a question, a simple statement of fact, and one that needed no response from Matt. "Good, that adds a certain frisson that Steven has long been unable to provide."

"I bet." Matt replied quietly, more to his chest than to Allison, but apparently his voice was loud enough to prompt a short bark of laughter.

When Matt awoke some time later (How long? He had no really clear idea.) he ached all over. A dull, constant throbbing pain that seemed to come from every one of his muscles simultaneously. They had continued the drive in silence until they reached Allison's apartment building, entering the underground car park smoothly and coming to a stop at a space marked '8B'. Allison had told him to get out and made for the elevator without a backward glance. For want of options, Matt followed, his feet trailing a little and his entire demeanor listless.

More silence had followed in the elevator as the numbers clicked gently up to eight. Allison, standing stock still and never so much as glancing at the boy beside him, simply exuded composure and strength. Clearly he was used to this, and was in no way unnerved by the situation, did not fear the young hustler at all. Matt had sunk further into his jacket and allowed a fuzz to fill his brain, blotting out conscious thought of what was to come. He was still moving as though in a dream when they had entered the apartment and Allison had begun to issue his instructions. Matt was made to strip immediately so Allison could examine his still fairly fit young body, much thinner now than it had once been. He had then been ordered into the shower to scrub himself thoroughly and wash his light brown hair, to rid himself of the 'stink' that Allison had remarked on in the diner.

Thoroughly cleaned, inside and out under Allison's careful direction, he had returned to the living room where a leather hood had been secured in place, obscuring his 'pretty' features until the ordeal was over. The hood, strangely had added to the sense of detachment he had allowed to creep over him, made him feel more like the object that Allison wanted and less like the real human being he was. It was that numbness that had got him through it all, as Allison had tied him up, beaten him, tortured him and humiliated him, The fuzz had sustained him, allowed him to endure and to blot out the intense pain of being penetrated, forcibly, for the first time in his life.

"So you're awake at last." Allison walked back into the room, his hair was wet and he was wearing a robe, so he had obviously taken a shower at some fairly recent point. Matt made no response, simply lay still and watched the older man as he moved around the room picking up the boy's clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair. Matt tried to roll over to follow Allison's movements as he crossed over to the windows, but was brought up short by the cuff still attached to his left wrist. He gave it an experimental tug, wincing at the pain in his arm, but it was as unyielding as it had been earlier when his efforts to get free had been much more pronounced; the hood, though, was gone. Allison laughed again, a dry humorless sound.

"I suppose you want out of those?"

"Yes." Matt answered, his voice a low croak; the attempt to speak took his mind off the other pains for a moment and concentrated it instead on his throat which was sore from the rough treatment it had received.

"I would have thought," Allison said straightening up and shaking his head, "that you would have learned a little respect by now, boy."

"Sorry, sir." Matt mumbled after glaring at the man for some time, his words, if not his tone, respectful. Right at that moment, he was prepared to say whatever Allison wanted him to say to get himself out of the cuffs. He desperately wanted to take a bath to ease the ache in his muscles, his back and ass ached from the belt, but the strain in his legs and arms from the bondage was far more pressing, his muscles ached as though he had been running for miles.

"Better, but I think you need a few more lessons, don't you?" When Matt made no response but to continue glaring at Allison through partly closed eyes the older man snorted derisively. "No? Next time, Steven won't take a fifty percent cut."

"What?" Matt asked quietly.

"Oh?" Allison knelt on the bed beside the boy and leant forward to unlock the cuffs. "Didn't he tell you?" It was clear from his tone that he knew perfectly well that Stevie had misled Matt about how much money was changing hands. "A sort of finder's fee."

"Is that right." Matt enunciated each word clearly, his anger perfectly apparent, as he tried to massage some life back into his hands and get the circulation going again. It wasn't a question.

"I assumed you knew." Allison responded rising once more to his feet. Matt moved cautiously, not fully trusting his limbs to support him as he swung himself into a sitting position and attempted to stand. He strained his neck to look over his shoulder in an effort to see how bad the bruising was on his back, surely it would be as bad as it was on his thighs. His mind was still mostly shut down, the only way he knew to deal with situations like this one which were so wildly out of his control was to let his consciousness take a back seat and wait for things to get better. Maybe that was why he was in the mess he was in now?

"No. You didn't." Matt's voice was low and quiet, measured, barely audible, but Allison heard him easily enough and allowed himself another thin smile. The boy didn't notice as his attention was by then focussed on his tender balls, which he was checking for lasting damage, there appeared to be none.

"Well, I expect you and he will want to discuss it further."

"Maybe." Matt strove to appear indifferent, to not rise to Allison's baiting.

"You amuse me, Matthew."

"Do I." Again Matt's answer could scarcely be thought of as a question.

"But of course." Allison smiled humorlessly and stepped aside, "You did well, boy, barely a whimper. But then, Steven did tell me you'd had worse."

"Just pay me, okay?" Matt tested his limbs and found he could move and walk with no real difficulty. The pain was lessening already, as he had known it would. When his step-father had beaten him as a boy what had seemed like unbearable agony at the time rapidly faded to numbness. He had learned to take it, but all that had achieved was to make the beatings more vicious as his step-father tried ever harder to make him cry out and beg him to stop. Matt had tried never to give him that pleasure, tried to take whatever he was given in silence, accepted the punishments rather than let the bastard have the satisfaction of seeing him break. Allison was no different, just more inventive in the ways he inflicted pain.

"He said you'd had a hard life." Allison's voice suggested not so much as a trace of sympathy, if anything a simple curiosity as though Matt were a particularly interesting specimen.

"Ha." Matt bent to pick up his jeans, wincing only slightly as he slid them up his legs. Allison opened a drawer in the nightstand and produced a white envelope.

"Here." He held it out to Matt who accepted it wordlessly, opening it just enough to verify that it did indeed contain his money. "What? No 'thank you'? Bad boy."

"Thanks." Matt answered bitterly.

"Any time." Allison gestured towards the open bedroom door leading to the rest of the comfortably appointed apartment. "Go and get yourself something to drink."

"Thanks." Matt mumbled again, this time a little less bitterly, as he grabbed his shirt and t-shirt and left Allison alone. In the apartment's small kitchen he found a glass and filled and emptied it several times, slaking his incredible thirst before he finished dressing. The pain in his back leapt back into life as he stretched to put on his t-shirt and was kept in the forefront of his mind as the fabric rubbed back and forth against his skin. Matt retrieved his bike jacket from the chair where it had been discarded earlier and slipped the envelope into an inside pocket, zipping it carefully, his life now depended on getting its contents to Seb.

"Refreshed?" Allison asked when he entered the room some time later, dressed once more as he had been in the diner. He seemed unruffled by the events of the last few hours, but then why should he? He wasn't the one who had been handcuffed to the bed. The older man adjusted the cuffs on his shirt so they protruded from his suit sleeves. When Matt made no response to the inquiry, he snorted a laugh again. Now that he had the money, it flashed through Matt's mind to attack the smug sadist, to beat him as badly as he had beaten Matt. Maybe even to kill him. He clenched his fists tightly, concealed as they were from Allison's view, and drew in a deep breath until the redness retreated from his vision. What had happened to him had been horrible, but it wasn't the worst thing to have happened, and he would recover from it. And, after all, he had entered into the arrangement freely, well, relatively freely. Importantly, he was still alive, and thanks to Allison's money, would be alive tomorrow too. In a way, he was only reaping the punishment he had so surely sown for himself by getting involved with Seb in the first place.

"You've gone very quiet, boy, you made a lot more noise earlier." Allison said, interrupting Matt's thought processes.

"Why do you do this?" Matt asked quietly, looking up at the older man, ignoring the jibe.

"Why? I should have thought that was obvious, boy, I enjoy it." He was donning his coat as he spoke, but he managed to favor Matt with an evil grin as he did so. Allison had come once in Matt's mouth and fucked him twice in the time he had had the boy at his mercy, so there could be little doubt that he had enjoyed what he was doing.

"But, why?" Matt tried to rephrase the question, to understand why such a seemingly normal man could harbor secret desires to physically torture boys like him. "What do you get from it?"

"I thought I had answered that already. No matter, I think I know what you're really asking. Why do I enjoy it? What is the source of my thrill?"

"Yeah." Matt answered as Allison pulled his gloves back on and strode towards the door of the apartment.

"After you." He gestured to the door, and Matt walked from the apartment and entered the elevator with Allison who was silent for the entire descent, though whether from stubbornness or because he was considering the answer was unclear. There was certainly a speculative look on his face, so Matt remained quiet too. He lacked any real burning curiosity about the answer but part of him did want to know Allison's motivation, if only to help make sense of the whole fucked up mess for himself.

"So?" Matt finally asked as Allison started the car. "Why?"

"Why should I answer any of your questions, Matthew? We play my games, not yours." He had never once lost his composure, even at the height of his passion, his insults and abuse had been calculated, dispassionate.

"I'm not playing games."

"No?" Allison seemed amused.

"No." Matt sighed. "I just wondered."

"You just wondered why I put you through all that? What kind of sick fuck would do those things to a boy? Hmm?"

"Something like that." Matt's answer was cautious, still a little wary of the other man's reactions. Strangely, Allison simply seemed amused by this noncommittal answer, his attention more on driving than on Matt.

"It varies from person to person; with you it was the blend of submissiveness with your obvious defiance. You hated what I was doing, you hated the thought of it even more, but you had no choice. To see a good-looking young boy like you having to submit himself to that, just for money, of which I have more than enough, is very stimulating. To then know that I can do whatever I want and there's nothing at all you can do about it just makes it better still."

"That's it? Power?"

"Oh, no, that's just half. I liked watching you squirm, I got a thrill from hearing you cry and moan, and I like the sensation of fucking an unwilling virgin. Twice. Happy?" The explanation was unsatisfying, incomplete, but nothing further seemed to be forthcoming.

"Not really." Matt had winced at the word 'virgin', Allison's words had brought his attention back to what had happened earlier. After a few moments of silence, a shudder passed through the boy's body and he knew he was close to crying again, suddenly he was overcome with revulsion at Allison, and at himself, he just wanted to be alone as soon as possible. "Just let me off here. Okay?"

"What kind of date would I be if I didn't give you a ride home?" Allison gave a little snort of laughter at his own pathetic joke.

"Just let me out."

"As you wish, Matthew." They weren't too far from Sam's Diner anyway, only a block or two, as Allison pulled over and killed the engine. Matt immediately clawed at the handle for the door, swinging it open and taking a great breath of fresh air to quell his rising nausea. Allison remained where he was as Matt climbed out of the car and turned to slam the door. "See you later, Matthew."

"No. You won't." The boy said with finality as he slammed the door of the car. He turned up the collar of his jacket, and trying to ignore the pain throughout his body, he set off towards Crux, the small club Seb used as his base of operations.

"Don't be so sure." The older man murmured as he started the car again and overtook the boy, speeding away into the dark.

Continued in Chapter 2...