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. LUKE

Outside, the rain drummed on relentlessly, soaking into the city, washing away the dirt and grime and driving most people from the streets. A lone figure walked down the street, seemingly oblivious to the rain; it wasn't hunching like people normally do in the rain and it's step was measured and unhurried, casual almost. Luke wasn't bothered by the rain, he was already soaked and not going to get any wetter, and he never caught cold anyway. His fine blond hair was plastered to his skull, and drips of water fell rhythmically from his nose and the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw. Clear, ice-blue eyes fixed on some point in the distance and hands thrust negligently into the pockets of his black pea-coat he ambled on, his mind obviously on other things.

Luke enjoyed the rain, it made the city seem new and fresh; reborn. It lifted the oppressive heat and enlivened all the colors and smells, purging the place of all it's sins. Having grown up in the countryside, city life had come as a revelation to Luke when he had visited one for the first time. Nothing could induce him to live anywhere but right in the heart of the heaving bustling mass of humanity, but he still craved silence and solitude from time to time. And there was nothing like torrential rain to provide them, he could easily imagine himself the only living thing on these desolate streets. He slowed his pace coming to a stop equidistant between two street lamps, letting his arms dangle loosely at his sides and tilting his head back to allow the rain to fall directly into his face.

It had been a strange evening in many ways. Luke had been in the crowd in the alleyway as they had lifted the corpse of the boy out, looking so much paler and thinner now than when he had seen him last. More like a thing and less like a human being. He had slipped away before anyone could ask questions of him, fading into the background was one of Luke's particular skills. He had walked aimlessly at first, just to get away from the alleyway and the crowd, then his direction had become more fixed, purposefully moving away. It was probably wise to stay away from hustlers for a while. He shook himself sharply, and forced himself back into motion, away from the quiet back-streets and towards the lights and the warm press of other bodies.

He had been on his way home when the flashing lights had caught his attention, now he was restless and hungry, and suddenly achingly lonely. He had money in his pocket though, so finding something to do, something to distract him and cheer him up could not be so very difficult. Luke never had any problems finding companions, his striking looks and strong lean body drew admiring looks wherever he went. A dazzling, if fleeting smile, and an air of listening intently kept the attention his appearance inevitably garnered. A club was clearly the answer, there he would be able to get a drink and to immerse himself in the noises, the sights and the smells of a large crowd of young people concentrating on having a good time.

The rain continued to fall, and traffic whooshed by sending up sheets of spray adding to the already huge puddles formed by the overrun from roofs and gutters. Luke walked steadily on, his stride never altering. He could navigate the city blindfold, by scent alone, he had walked these same streets so often. On foot, this street was a long way from his usual haunts, but that was due to the aimless wandering of earlier. There was nothing on these streets to interest Luke; run down industry, closed stores, drifts of litter in doorways, the forgotten streets. Occasionally, Luke would pass some of the city's human detritus, huddled with the litter in the doorways, cleared from the more prosperous neighborhoods by city fathers more concerned with appearance than in addressing the problem.

"Spare change, mister?" A cracked and pathetic voice called from the shadows, nothing in the tone suggested hope for a positive response, or even any interest in the response at all. Luke stopped dead, and turned slowly in the direction from which the voice had come. There was an old black man in the shadows, a filthy blanket covering his legs; under the direct, unblinking gaze that Luke turned on him, the man flinched and cowered back into the shadows. Somewhere in the alcohol clouded remains of the man's brain, a treacherous, visceral fear stirred to life.

"What did you say?" Luke asked quietly, taking a step closer.

"Spare change?" His voice shook now as he looked up at the younger man, his gaze flicking from side to side as though seeking a way to flee, as though his legs could have carried him were there one.

"You want me to give you money?" Luke asked sinking to a squat the creaking of his leather cargo pants audible over the rain, his coat falling open and his hands resting on his knees. The old man made no response as Luke considered him in silence. "What's your name?"

"Cyrus, mister."

"Cyrus?" Luke asked, the man's voice had been very quiet but Luke had exceptional hearing so the question was not so much to seek clarification as it was to cover surprise. The man nodded, his eyes continuing their wildly erratic journey and his fingers clutching at the blanket.

"Yes, mister," the man's voice was barely a whisper now and he nodded as though his head and neck pained him.

"That's a good name you have, there was a king of Persia once called Cyrus the Great, did you know that?" Luke inquired softly, his eyes locked on the old man's dirty and haggard face. His expression was hard to read, strangely serene, almost smiling.

"No, sir."

"No, I don't suppose you do," Luke sighed and smiled at the man, "I don't suppose you've ever seen the sunset in the desert, watched the shadows creep up the face of the cliffs at Persepolis and gazed in awe on the tombs of kings?" It was phrased as a rhetorical question, but Cyrus shook his head and hunched lower into the doorway, utterly afraid of this handsome, blue-eyed madman and of what he would do next.

"No, sir."

"No, sir," Luke echoed. "You're a man of a different stamp aren't you, Cyrus? What are kings to you? What do you care for marble statues and the tribute of nations? Baubles!" He laughed, more at some memory than at the old man's condition. "Kings? Empires? Pah, you're a free man, aren't you? An American?"

Cyrus made no response, none seemed to be needed and it was unlikely that he would have been able to control his voice enough in any case.

"I bet you were a hard worker, weren't you, Cyrus?"

"Yes, sir," Cyrus squirmed and tested the muscles in his legs. Nobody had ever looked at him with the same intensity as Luke, even before he had fallen on such desperate times, no one had focused so intently on him.

"Worked every hour that God sent to provide for your family?" Luke continued and the old man nodded mutely. "And look at you now, look what's become of you, my friend." His right handed drifted, seemingly of it's own volition, to Cyrus's cheek and the old man pressed himself back against the wall in a futile bid to escape the cold, strong fingers as they stroked his rough skin. "Poor Cyrus."

"Yes, sir," Cyrus's eyes were wide with terror now and his voice was unintelligible, the cold touch on his cheek was all he could think about. His gaze flicked frantically from the clear, blue eyes to the hand.

"And now you have to beg for money. What a world." With a shake of his head, Luke dropped his hand from the man's face. The smell of him was thick in his nostrils, layers of filth and the sour smell of defeat, of a spirit broken. He found the associations more distasteful than the actual smell, which was a mere fact to be processed as far as he was concerned. The world was a mystery to Luke, cause and effect, why people acted as they did was a constant revelation to him. People were like intricate Japanese puzzle boxes, pressed in the right places, turned just so and they would open up, reveal all their secrets. At times, though, why even he did the things he did was a puzzle, one he had learned was more interesting to observe than to attempt to solve.

"I like you, Cyrus," Luke finally said after staring for a long time at the old man, whose fear he could now smell, "you don't add much to a conversation, but I like you. I'm going to help you."

From a pocket he produced a wad of bills, held together with a silver money-clip, his eyes never leaving the old man's face Luke pulled the clip free and held out the money to Cyrus. The old man's eyes resumed their crazed dance, this time between Luke's face, his hand and some distant point over his left shoulder. The madman was holding out a lot of money, how much his brain was too addled to say, but a lot. This, like everything about the encounter, was outside Cyrus's experience. When he begged for money he rarely saw more than a couple of dollars at a time.

"What's the matter, Cyrus," Luke asked, "don't you want this?"

"Yes, sir." Cyrus answered hesitantly, a tentative hand leaving the safety of the blanket and taking hold of the bills. The younger man did not relinquish his grasp and Cyrus was about to withdraw when Luke's other hand closed over his. There was no possibility of breaking that grip, or of wriggling free, even had Cyrus's muscles been in peak condition there was no denying Luke's strength and no point struggling against it. Panic resurfaced and the old man made a few spasmodic jerks, Luke maintained his grip.

"You need to promise me something, Cyrus." The old man's response was an inarticulate keening sound as a thin strand of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth and his eyes glazed over. "Listen to me, Cyrus." Luke gave the man a little shake and a semblance of awareness returned to the slack face, Cyrus's eyes still flicked to and fro, but less so as something in the young man's tone focused him. "You mustn't use this money to get drunk, do you understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Go get yourself something to eat."

"Yes, sir."

"Straighten yourself out a little." Luke released his grip on the man's hand and on the money but Cyrus's arm remained outstretched, too intent on Luke's face to think about hiding the cash. "I see the man you used to be, Cyrus. I think you want to be that way again, and I think you can be, all you need is someone to help you. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought so. Take the money, Cyrus, and look after yourself." And so saying, Luke rose smoothly to his feet and without a second glance at the old man resumed his progress down the street. He had had that money for less than three hours, but then, he needed it even less than the man he'd taken it from. It was the clip he had seen catching the light and had suddenly wanted it, magpie like, with all his heart; that the money had come with it was an added bonus, an unlooked for bounty. And now it was gone it would scarcely be missed; in all, there had been over six hundred dollars.

"God bless you, mister." Cyrus mumbled as his eyes focused on the money in his hand and struggled mentally to comprehend what had transpired. Luke was too far away to possibly have heard over the rain, but a small, wry smile formed on his lips nevertheless.

"I doubt that very much, my friend." Luke whispered as his strong stride carried him away from the dismal back streets and towards the lights of the clubs and the less rundown districts.

He was still hungry, his encounter with Cyrus had just put an edge on his appetite and emphasized his loneliness. His restlessness had increased too, and now he had less than a hundred dollars in his pants' pocket. Still more than enough for one night. Luke turned his steps towards 'Crux', a small Goth club he went to from time to time, frequented by wan-looking kids who wore far too much black. The music did nothing for him, but the need in their eyes and the desperate desire of their bodies appealed to his nature. He could sympathize with their feelings of isolation, of living in a world made for others. They walked a fine line, flirting with death and darkness, a kind of suburban nihilism, surrender to despair in the midst of plenty, that exercised a strange fascination over him.

The noise from the tiny club spilled out into the night, a throbbing, moaning counterpoint of suicide and pain to the gaudily blinking light of the ankh as it flashed it's promise of life eternal on the opposite wall. The irony wasn't wasted on Luke as he walked down the street towards the noise, his gait changing imperceptibly, fluidly, from the upright stride that had carried him that far so swiftly to an easier, more casual, ambling gait. The hulking form of Gus the doorman watched the young man's approach impassively; different from the usual crowd, there was an easy carelessness about Luke that none of the kids inside could mimic however hard they tried.

There were a couple of clusters of kids outside, smoking and passing bottles of water to and fro, escaping the oppressive heat within. There was a profusion of leather, velvet, silk and lace, all in funereal shades, and silver jewelry abounded; their faces were heavily made up, especially round the eyes. If they noticed Luke's approach they did not acknowledge him, though Gus could see some of them watching him closely out of the corners of their eyes while they affected indifference. The doorman had seen all this before on at least a dozen prior occasions; Luke always received furtive, appraising glances from the pale girls and boys as they loitered in the street.

The big black man grunted a greeting and gave a curt nod. "Augustus," Luke responded a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded his own greeting. He had discovered early on that that was the doorman's name and had greeted him that way ever since. Nobody except his mother had ever called Gus that, but for some reason he couldn't begin to fathom he accepted it from Luke.

"Luke, my man," the doorman engulfed Luke's extended hand in his own massive one and gave it a bone-crunching squeeze. Luke didn't so much as flinch; he never did even when Gus gave him a handshake that would bring other men to their knees. Gus's big, honest face crinkled into a grin that soon spread into a wide smile displaying a mouthful of perfect white teeth. He liked Luke, the white boy was strangely easy to talk to but, better still, he also knew when to shut up. He had an individuality that the clones the doorman saw every night just couldn't muster, the only puzzle was what the fuck he saw in this place. No question about what they saw in him, Luke was a striking man with his pale skin, light blond hair and intelligent blue eyes, his finely sculptured features, high cheekbones, strong jaw and a dazzling, if ephemeral, smile. He had a real knack for putting people at their ease, for drawing them out of themselves and for making them feel special. When his eyes and his attention were on you, you felt like the most important person in the world, and when they were not you were left feeling hopeless and empty.

"How's business?" Luke asked when his hand was released, he didn't wave it around or blow on it or anything, just slid it back into his jacket pocket as though nothing had happened and leant back casually on the wall.

"The world'll never run out of rich, skinny, white kids."

Luke was well acquainted with Gus's opinion of the clientele of 'Crux' as they had discussed it in the past. In the doorman's view the kids were all middle class whiners, coming in from the 'burbs to bitch at each other about how their parents couldn't understand them, and what a bad hand life had dealt them. Listening to music about death and floating about trying to look anemic and romantic, as though that was possible on three square a day. None of them had known a day's real hardship in their entire life and no amount of highlighting their cheekbones was going to change that. Had any of their mothers spent their days on their knees scrubbing office floors just to keep food on the table? To make sure their kids had decent clothes to wear to school? So their parents didn't like their music or their friends? Big fucking deal, better that than having a brother in jail for selling crack so he could afford a doctor for his infant daughter. Sure, the plant was going through tough times financially, layoffs were necessary, but did it have to be all the black workers who went first? And it was probably one of these fuck-ups' fathers who did the firing.

"So nothing new tonight?"

"Usual freaks and ghouls, my man," Gus replied with a rueful shake of his head, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

"Yeah?" Luke gave a low chuckle. "You think maybe I can find me a real life vampire?" He held two fingers in front of his mouth pointing downwards like fangs and made a fierce face. "Get it to suck my blood?" This was a very different Luke to the one who had crouched by Cyrus mere minutes before. Anyone who had observed the earlier exchange would have had trouble believing it was the same person but, of course, nobody had observed. Blending in, not being noticed unless he wanted to be, was one of Luke's real talents.

"Ain't your blood they want to suck, my man!" Gus's laughter rumbled deep in his chest.

"Maybe you're right," Luke joined in the doorman's laughter. Appreciating the big man's amusement more than the actual joke. Gus was a man of few words, taciturn even, his job did not encourage, and his demeanor did not invite, confidences or friendships.

"You know I am." Over the months he had been coming to the club Luke had enjoyed getting to know Gus, drawing him out of himself. Luke liked solving puzzles, liked taking things apart to see how they ticked, and every person he met was a new and interesting challenge to him. They stood in silence together, watching people come and go, always in small groups, huddled together for safety. Occasionally Gus would demand an ID from someone as they tried to gain admittance, barely even giving the cards a glance. Little or no alcohol was sold in the club, the kids here tended to bring their own (swiped from their parents) or to stick with water.

"Well," Luke grunted pushing himself away from the wall, "wish me luck."

"D'you need it?" Gus asked with a smile.

"Probably not," Luke replied turning towards the door and the incessant beat. A group of four was just approaching the club, three male and one female, and Luke's interest was piqued by what he saw. He watched as they drew closer, his attention focused exclusively on the tallest boy who was walking between the other two, his hands thrust into his jeans' pockets, head down and scowling. The boy glanced up briefly at Luke and Gus, blushed and returned his gaze to the ground and entered the club with his friends. Luke stood in silence and watched them go, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You like that?" Gus winked suggestively at Luke, following his gaze. He had seen Luke in action before and had a pretty good idea of his 'type', skinny white boys who all looked like they could use a good meal. This one was no exception, leather jacket, tight jeans, long hair, silver jewelry; indistinguishable to Gus from the dozens of other identical club-goers already inside.

"It has a certain something," the younger man replied, pushing himself away from the wall and smiling at the doorman, "wanna see my ID?"

Gus shook his head sadly at Luke and jerked his thumb at the door, watching as the enigmatic young blond disappeared into the din of the club. It was dark in the club, the lighting coming in erratic pulses and flashes, the music was incredibly loud, insistent, the heat incredible. Luke's eyes adjusted to the gloom instantly and he threaded his way through the throng to the bar where he could see the boy standing with his friends. His face was illuminated in alternate flashes of pink and blue light, revealing delicate cheekbones and a jawline that made Luke feel slightly dizzy.

From the other end of the bar Luke ordered a beer, paying for it with one of the few bills he had held back from Cyrus. Turning to lean back against the bar Luke allowed his keen gaze to scan the crowd moving fitfully and spasmodically to the music. He hated this kind of music, but the kids who came to Crux fascinated him, there was a deep need in them all, a sort of yearning to be released from the perceived prisons of their lives. The warm press of bodies, the appraising, desirous glances though; the effect on Luke's brain was like opium. As he raised the beer bottle to his lips, he noticed his hand shaking and exerted a great effort of will to regain complete control of his body. The boy he had been watching had disappeared into the crowd with one of the others, leaving the youngest boy and the girl pointedly ignoring one another.

Ordinarily Luke would have waited, waited and left with his first choice, he was rarely disappointed when he set his sights on somebody. Tonight was different; the alleyway, the rain, Cyrus, had all left him with an urgent need, a hunger. Tonight, second choice would have to do. His gaze settled on a young boy with blond spiky hair dancing frenetically on the other side of the small club. It didn't take long for the boy to notice he was being watched and he glanced up shyly, meting Luke's gaze before quickly looking away. Luke's expression never flickered, he knew how this game was played and he knew he had already won, he leant back against the bar and took another drink. The song finished and another started, Luke and the boy exchanged several more glances, accompanied by the occasional knowing smile.

"Buy me a drink?" The boy asked once he had made his way through the crowd to the bar.

"What would you like?" Luke asked him as the boy removed his bike jacket and placed it on top of a stool. Beads of sweat stood out on the handsome, almost pretty, young face and the maroon t-shirt he wore had large darker patches. He smiled at Luke, a sweetly innocent boyish smile that made him look like he should be in junior high still. His face was flushed, but his blue eyes still stood out, they seemed a little too large for his face, but they served only to enhance his vaguely feminine looks.

"It's hot," the boy replied, raising his voice to be heard over the music "something with vodka." Luke could not see the connection but dutifully caught the bartender's eye and ordered a vodka tonic.

"What's your name?" Luke leant close and spoke directly into the boy's ear. The smell of cheap cologne, sweat, leather and vodka hit him strongly and reawakened his desire and it took all his self control not to press his lips against the soft, damp skin of the boy's neck.

"Reese," the boy answered, turning to face Luke, his own lips bare inches from Luke's face, "what's yours?" His hip pressed against Luke's and he leaned back, finding a strong arm resting along the bar. Luke's fingers pressed lightly against the boy's ribcage, savoring the warmth and vitality of his slim body.

"Luke."

"You're beautiful," Reese mumbled, tearing his eyes away from Luke's face and fixing them instead on the floor. Luke shivered, his gaze traveling from the back of the boy's head down his neck and into the shadows formed on his back by the t-shirt. The tempting concavity between the shoulders, the smooth, pale skin and fine, soft, blond hairs on the back of his neck made Luke's mouth water.

"Thank you," Luke replied, finishing his beer, well aware that the boy could not hear him over the wall of noise in the club. His eyes left Reese's neck and swept the club again, the long-haired boy he had seen and desired earlier was back with the youngest of his companions, the elder one that he had left with was talking to the girl near the bar again. Luke's eyes met the boy's across the room and he offered him a small smile before returning his attention to Reese. "Want to go somewhere more quiet?" Luke said directly into the boy's ear, his fingers curling more tightly round Reese's waist in an almost proprietorial fashion.

"Okay," Reese looked up into Luke's eyes, an expression of almost pathetic eagerness on his face, he wanted Luke desperately, had seen him in the club before, and could hardly believe his luck that he had been chosen.

"Let's go," Luke smiled at the boy, "I need some air."

It occurred to him, briefly, that he should find the friends he had come with and tell them where he was going, but such thoughts were quickly overruled by his libido which was telling him in no uncertain terms to follow Luke before he changed his mind. The boy grabbed his jacket from the stool on which he had placed it and slung it over one shoulder. He smiled back at Luke who reached for his other hand taking it his own cool, firm grip and leading the boy towards the door. Reese hung on tightly and followed on unsteady legs as they threaded their way through the crowd, he could see the lustful glances given to Luke and could feel the jealousy radiating toward him from some of the people they passed. Such animosity only served to heighten his arousal and the giddy feeling Luke's touch had inspired. Outside, Luke paused and released Reese's hand to allow him to put his jacket on. In the better light here, the boy appeared less pale than he had in the bluish lighting inside, healthier and more natural and also more desirable.

"Have fun, my man," The doorman said as Luke passed him, his grip on Reese's hand renewed, Luke simply smiled faintly at him and raised his eyebrows.

"See ya, Gus."

"Where are we going?" Reese asked as they left the club behind, out here on the streets he was a little nervous about holding hands, but there was something reassuring about Luke, he seemed to be so utterly in control.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Um, I don't know, somewhere quiet?" The boy was hesitant, he knew exactly where he wanted to go, but he was shy about asking.

"My apartment?" Luke supplied, perfectly on cue, phrasing his answer as a question, to make the final decision Reese's and not his.

"Okay," the boy replied happily, looking up at Luke with a radiant smile. Luke smiled back and, releasing the boy's hand, pulled him closer with a laugh, slipping his arm around Reese's waist and feeling a matching arm slip round his own inside his coat. "I like your laugh," he added, "do you live near here?"

"Fairly near, a few blocks."

"Okay."

"Are you cold?" Luke asked the top of Reese's head.

"Not now." Reese snuggled a little closer to Luke's side and was rewarded with another laugh which made him shiver with anticipation, he was already wishing he had worn baggier pants to go out that night.

"Good."

The two continued to walk in silence, they got the occasional strange look from people they passed, but nobody said anything and most glanced away as soon as they had ascertained they were both men. In this part of town such a sight was not completely unknown, all the best bars and clubs were here, and the gay community was fairly large. Eventually, though, Luke released his young companion and returned his hands to his pockets as they moved toward the quieter, more residential, area where he made his home. Reese glanced up at Luke and smiled as they walked side by side the rest of the way. Finally, Luke came to a halt outside a door next to an old, run down looking musical instrument store and pulled a ring of keys from his pants pocket.

"You live here?" Reese asked, glancing at the crumbling stonework of the upper floors and the generally low rent appearance of the businesses and mentally comparing it to the well-dressed, handsome, young man he was with. The question was purely for information, he would have gone through with this even had Luke lived in a trailer park somewhere.

"This used to be a better neighborhood," Luke supplied with a conspiratorial smile as he turned a key in one of the several locks.

"Oh," Reese shrugged and smiled, demonstrating himself to be, as Luke had suspected, not the sharpest pencil in the box, "okay."

"That was a while ago." Luke continued as the door swung inwards revealing a darkened hallway and a wrought-iron and pine spiral staircase leading upwards into the gloom. "But I like the place, it's quiet, so I stay in the neighborhood."

"Yeah, quiet's good."

"Plus, it's nicer inside," Luke gestured for the boy to go first up the stairs, flicking a light on as he did, revealing a tastefully decorated, if soberly gray, hallway. "After you." There was a cabinet to the left of the door with a large onyx bowl containing the sort of odds and ends a man would empty from his pockets, and to this Luke now added the silver money clip, some bills and his keys.

"What's that?" Reese indicated a piece of statuary that occupied the far corner. A manlike figure, around four feet tall, wearing a tall pointed crown and holding a sword aloft, the main body of it was verdigris covered bronze but the crown was polished and shone like gold.

"Statue of the god Baal," Luke answered, "do you like it?"

"It looks old."

"It is," ignoring that statement of the obvious Luke pushed the door closed behind him, "guess how old?"

"I dunno? Maybe a hundred years?" Reese shrugged as he answered.

"Close, it's from the fourteenth century before Christ."

"That is old." Reese's tone conveyed that he was impressed, but revealed no real comprehension of the piece's antiquity.

"Shall we go upstairs?" Luke gestured at the spiral.

"Okay." Reese headed up the stairs, followed by Luke who watched the young boy's muscles as they moved within his clothes. The switch in the hall had turned on the light at the top of the stairs as well, revealing a large expanse of polished pine floor dotted with rugs. Almost the whole floor had been knocked into a single room, sparsely furnished but with heavy, expensive and comfortable-looking items. The same drab gray walls continued here, but the drapes and the furniture were all of rich, deep tones and it was obvious that the room's contents were worth a great deal of money. At the far end from the stairs, flanked by cabinets like the ones in the hall was a large double bed draped in heavy brocaded coverings.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Reese turned to look at Luke who simply smiled back at him.

"I like to be comfortable."

"What do you do, man?" The boy asked, stressing 'do' heavily.

"Do?"

"To pay for all this?" Reese gestured around the room.

"Old money." Luke answered with a smile, drawing his fingers gently across the back of the boy's neck. His hand came to rest on Reese's shoulder, the other rose to his waist and Luke pressed his lips, at last, to the smooth skin of his neck.

"Mmm." Was all the response Reese made as Luke gently turned the boy to face him and pressed him backwards into the apartment, climbing the last few stairs as he did so. Reese's jacket slid easily from his shoulders and down his arms as Luke kissed his lips. With deft hands Luke pushed the tough leather past Reese's wrists and it clattered to the polished wooden floor with a jangle of buckles. They kissed again, Reese's mouth opening willingly to Luke as the strong hands roamed his young body. Reese ached for the man in front of him and moaned softly as Luke's tongue dueled insistently with his own. Eventually, after the longest time, Luke broke the kiss and stepped past the boy, stooping to pick up the leather jacket and throw it on a chair.

"Would you like a drink, Reese?" He asked as he slipped out of his own coat, dropping it on the same chair and affording the boy his first glance at Luke's physique which, through his untucked gray shirt, appeared a very fine one.

"Um, yeah, thanks. Whatever you're having."

"Okay." Luke smiled and nodded to the boy and moved soundlessly across the room to an antique drinks cabinet, the soft rubber soles of the gray-black hiking boots he wore were a marked contrast to the noise made by Reese's boot heels as he followed Luke further into the spacious apartment.

"Stolichnaya," Luke said holding out one shot glass to Reese, "it's better straight."

"Thanks." The boy took the glass carefully, waiting to see if Luke would sip it or knock it back in one before deciding what to do himself. Luke gestured to Reese to take a seat and sat down beside him their knees touching before he threw back the vodka in one. Reese immediately followed suit, eager to please, and grimaced sharply as the alcohol hit the back of his throat, a strangling sound escaped his lips and then he smiled guiltily at Luke and blushed.

"You're a very attractive boy, Reese." Luke slipped a little closer and his fingers began to play again with the hair on the back of the boy's head. The other hand crept up Reese's leg and lifted the bottom of his T-shirt, allowing strong, cool fingers to touch the bare skin of the boy's belly. Again, Reese groaned and his blue eyes slid closed, going limp and passive as Luke removed the shirt completely. Ribs were visible under the skin of the slender body thus revealed, not emaciated, just under-developed. Luke leaned closer and breathed in the smell of the boy, that same heady mix of leather, sweat and vodka he had first caught in 'Crux'. His hands trailed up the ribcage and his tongue slipped between his perfect white teeth to flick at a small, hard nipple.

"Oh, God." The boy moaned softly, his hands gripping almost convulsively at the powerful muscles of Luke's shoulders. As the talented tongue swirled and swept across the boy's nipples and the strong teeth nibbled sporadically at the soft skin, Luke's fingers rapidly loosened Reese's belt and unfastened the tight black jeans. The boy obligingly lifted his hips to let the jeans slip down more easily, he was naked underneath and Luke sat back to admire his body, right on the threshold of manhood. Reese was absolutely rock hard, as he had been ever since that first fleeting glance in the club, a nice size for a boy of his age.

"Okay?" Luke asked, looking intently into the boy's eyes. Reese nodded and with a faint smile Luke began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt, slowly sliding it off his shoulders and freeing his hands from its confines, leaving it in a rumpled heap on the floor. Luke's body was magnificent, slim with not an ounce of fat, every muscle perfectly defined, strong and symmetrical. There were a couple fine white scars, the traces of old injuries that enhanced rather than marred the smooth perfection, standing out against the even tone of his flesh.

"Wonderful," the boy breathed, whether in answer to Luke's last question or in response to the beauty before him was unclear.

"Kick off your boots." Luke instructed and watched as the boy obeyed him wordlessly, his hunger for the moment forgotten in the surge of lust for the pretty, and now naked, teenager. He rose to his feet also, and held out a hand to Reese leading him to the bed and pushing him gently onto his back. The boy propped himself on his elbows and looked up at Luke, raptly, as he lowered his cargo pants down smooth thighs and kicked his feet free of his own boots. Reese smiled at what he saw, Luke was beautiful, head to toe, and he mentally congratulated himself on his good luck.

"You're stunning," Reese mumbled as Luke bent over him and kissed his lips again, his tongue sought, and was immediately granted, entry to the boy's mouth and they kissed deeply. The boy's breath was taken away by the intensity of that kiss, the strong hands on his body and the silky smooth skin against his. Luke's hands and mouth were everywhere at once, stimulating the whole of Reese's body seemingly continuously, reducing him to incoherent gurgling whenever he could catch enough breath to make any sound at all. The sensations he was feeling were utterly unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, he'd only been with one other man before this, a man well over twice his age and the encounter had been furtive to say the least.

"So are you." Luke finally managed to mumble back to the boy as he turned his attention lower and engulfed him with his mouth. The silky smoothness of the boy's skin caused Luke to suppress another shudder, the clean, fresh taste of him and the faintly lingering smell of sweat and leather served only to arouse him yet further. Reese's innocence and inexperience were palpable, but his desire was equally obvious and Luke knew that the night was going to be one to remember. He concentrated on his task, lavishing all the care and attention his skilful lips and tongue could muster, his hands continuing to explore the smooth, vital firmness of the boy's body. Then, when Reese was sure the sensations would overcome him, Luke took him still further, drawing him into his throat and making the boy moan inarticulately.

"Oh, Christ!" Reese finally gasped, heaving in breath, grabbing at Luke's head, unsure whether to pull him away or push him further down but desperate to be doing something with his hands. He clawed uselessly at the sheets as Luke worked on him, stimulating him to an unbearable degree and causing him after mere moments to arch his back and gasp aloud as he reached the most incredible climax of his short life.

"That takes some of the urgency out of it," Luke murmured as he crawled up the bed and smiled down at the, stroking the boy's heaving, sweating chest. Reese's eyes flicked open, a dazed expression on his smooth, flushed youthful face as he focused on his lover and listened to his soft voice, "now we can concentrate on having fun."

Continued in Chapter 4...