Forever Running

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Practice safe sex.

Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without express permission of the author. (c) June 6th, 2002, Anfernee Williamson.

FOREVER RUNNING

When Blaine heard the gunshot, he was already ready to act. As if it had been worked out beforehand. Part of a plan to help him escape.

He was ready to act. Ready to run.

The patrol car slowed to a stop, on the side of the broken ghetto street. The two beat cops in the front at first surprised at the shot, then the second, as it rung out. Even over the sounds of the engine, it was easy to spot. Anyone who spent any time in the endless ghettos of Bradford knew the sound almost as part of instinct. Knew exactly what to do. The initial surprise subsided quickly, the two cops doing as Blaine had expected.

He hated the response. It fueled his hatred of everything they represented.

"Hold up, I think the niggers still shooting."

"Yeah, I see him. There," the older one in the passenger seat replied, pointing.

"Let the monkeys kill each other. Pull in whoevers left alive," the driver replied.

Blaine fumed darkly, feeling the pain that burned in his muscles. In the left side of his face where it still bled. He stared out through the grill that separated the front of the car from the back seat. His makeshift prison for now, one he intended to escape. The black saw the dark street, a hint of the shooter as he darted across the road. The flash of metal in the remaining streetlights hinted that at the weapon he was carrying. Blaine waited, tense. Ready. His hands still behind his back where he lay awkwardly on the back seat of the car.

"Lets do it."

The two front doors opened as the cops reacted, the engine still left running. Blaine saw the driver, a younger cop, whose uniform was still unkept and mussed from the beat down, reach for his gun. It came up in a steady, swift stroke. Practiced, sped by hatred and eagerness. The older cop was a little slower, but the end result was the same. The two of them used the cover of their doors as the shooter continued his dash across the street. Blaine moved, almost as they did. Working on the same instinct that drove the cops.

His mind worked speedily, as his eyes took in the options. His right hand came up, uncuffed. Younger cop driving, left side. Older cop, passenger, on the right. Probably the older, less eager. Slower. The car had pulled to a holt on the right side there, nearer the cover and alleys.

Blaine already knew the door was unlocked, knowing the two were drunk in their overconfidence, after having beat him down after the capture. Cuffed him beforehand. Thrown him in the back seat while they continued on their patrol. Perhaps to take him in when they were ready, or were done with their sadistic fun. The hatred burned in him, the destain and disrespect driving him on as he all but threw himself out the right hand side door. He felt the ground hit under his feet as he took flight.

Ran.

"Dammit! Hes running!"

Blaine heard the younger cops confusion as he inquired back sharply of the older officer. The black was already running as fast as he could. Feeling his body protesting under the movement. He felt the pain in his ribs even greater now, as he made for the nearest alley. He was free, free from the pigs who had captured him. Beaten him. Would probably have had no qualms in killing and dumping him back in the same ghetto that spawned him. Free. Hurting. Hating. Blaine had his strange opportunity, waiting for anything. Now he had that small chance, and was free, all his mind dwelt on was running. Staying free.

The alley flashed darkly around him. Blaine felt the rush of running. Of outsmarting the pigs, at least in his own mind. He smelt the stench hit his nose. Felt the rain spat against his exposed face. Sting at the wound that had opened up there. The sounds of pursuit began to fill his ears as his breath ran hot and ragged from his lungs already. Blaine let the alleys embrace him, take him back into their arms. They were the mother that had raised him, the alleys and streets in the Irving district were as familiar to him as if they were her face. He ran to them, letting her take him protectively. To hide him from the dangers that he heard take chase behind him.

Run.

Keep running and don't stop.

Its what Blaine knew how to do, better than anything. Given different surrounds, different upbringing, the young black would have made an outstanding fullback. Definitely good enough to have become the star fullback of the Razorbacks. Perhaps even good enough to have made it into the NFL. But on the hard streets of Bradford, the same streets that had taught him how to run from everything, Blaine's skills were put to less ambitious hopes. Far from the cheers of adoring fans, or the heartless world of professional sports. All his skills gained him on the streets was perhaps another day of life. Another moment of survival and safety.

Blaine felt like an animal. Pursued by a lion. The fantasy played in his mind as he bolted about yet another corner. Running helter skelter, this way and that. Moving with a grace and athletism born of a motivation far greater than just a mere touchdown. He embraced the idea of underdog. In this cold concrete jungle, where the police were but just one of the many predators, Blaine was the underdog. The prey.

But he was smarter. More cunning. Faster.

Blaine liked that idea. It kept him moving, despite the pain he felt. It turned the pain to some strange, and giddy thrill. As each pounding heartbeat, and each pounding step further on the wet alleyways took him closer to true freedom. He was stronger, better than the pigs that had thought they could beat him. That thought they could trap and ensnare him. The thoughts of running, and escape drove him. The thoughts of being that fast rabbit, darting from the dark heart of evil wiped away a little of the pain. Steeled him. Drove him as strong as the hatred that still lingered about him.

Blaine could hear the foot falls behind him. Gadged their distance by the sound. The splash in one or the other of the larger puddles of water, after his own passage through them. He could tell it was the older cop. Only one of them. Blaine tried to keep himself steady to the layout of the alleys, thinking on the run as he worked out the best strategy. He was at his prime, working at his best. His mind moving quicker than his swift feet as he saw the next junction ahead.

Left. Right? No, left.

The maze of alleys continued to embrace Blaine as he continued to run. It barely seemed to make sense, the layout. The continued take of dark, wet, stinking back alleys. As if created by some mad genius, some tortured experiment to the masses that lived within the ghettos of Bradford.

Fence.

Blaine felt a sharp pain in his side as he all but leapt up onto the dumpster. Threw himself at the fence, in the hope that the battered dumpster would give him that extra little height to clear it before the cop behind him. The extra stress of pulling himself up over the chain link made his body groan painfully. Seemed to renew the pain in his side. The ragged sensations in his lungs, the exhilaration and pain pulled the bile from his throat. He heard the handcuff still attached to his right wrist clatter against the fence as he dragged himself over.

Hitting the ground on the other side was another blow to his system.

"Stop or Ill shoot!"

Blaine didnt care, pulling himself back into a run, albeit slower than it was the other side of the fence. He knew that if the cop was going to shoot, it would mean pulling out his pistol. Not scaling the chain link in pursuit. Just that little bit longer that would give him enough time to round another corner. Blaine felt his chest hurting as he staggered slightly before taking to his truer speed. A desperate run. The cop had been closer than he thought.

The young black felt the changes. Despite the only short time he'd had from the cars back seat, the adrenaline was starting to wane. Where perhaps if he had been sitting on a park bench, or on the tenement steps with his homeboys, he could have run four or five times this distance without feeling it. But the reminders of what he had been through this night so far only continued to strike painful reminders, in more than just his sapped speed. His face still hurt. His ribs felt sharp, his leg hurt for some reason after having leapt up that dumpster.

Blaine had to do something. He couldnt continue like he was.

Blaine thought quickly, trying to push away the pain and hurt that was clouding his mind. Whether from the wounds or from having run so far, so fast. He needed to think, work out better strategies. A light from somewhere above seemed to illuminate this alley less than the others he had run, as if the darkness had joined in enemy with the cop that tailed him. All those ghetto allies, turning one by one against him, starting with his own body.

Blaine had to hide.

The black thought he heard the rattling of the fence, but he wasn't sure. His mind seemed charged by something beyond the immediate pain, as if he was no longer in control. No longer making the conscious decisions beyond putting one foot before the other. Something seemed familiar about this sort of alley. This made sense. It had in the past. Blaine pushed through the darkness. Shot left towards the wall. Dropped. The shadows and night consumed him, along with the stench. The wetness.

Blaine concentrated on nothing other than keeping his ragged and painful breath locked in his lungs. His heart throbbed painfully. Now that he wasn't moving again, he began to feel the rest of his usual senses coming back to him. Taking in his surrounds like one normally would. The pain started to come back to him like it should, not dulled by the convenience of flight and survival. Blaine smelt the stink there, the water that had gathered on his body and clothes. His muscles burned and hurt. His lungs clawed up at him through his throat.

The foot falls pounded passed him.

Blaine risked a tight gasp of air. Letting his head fall back against the dark concrete where he was hunched. He could see the alley from where he was, just a little lower than the level of his chest. The black started to hear the sound of running water, as what had gathered there with him trickled through the long since broken windows next to him. He stood there in pain, breathing short and tight breaths, in the sunken alcove of what was once perhaps someones view from their kitchen window. One of many that lined the alley. One big enough for the youth to hide in, just for a moment.

Just until the cop had passed. But Blaine knew what he had to do next.

The fatigue called heavy reminder to his body as he pulled his way back out of the sunken area. A far easier task dropping down in it, than to pull his strong young body out. He felt the wet alley, humid and unforgiving under his gloved hands as he spurred into movement again. The seductive thoughts that always crossed his mind at these times did so, almost as if on cue.

Sleep.

Rest.

Stop.

don't run. Give in.

Blaine came up to his feet, and started towards the twisted fire escape ladder that he knew had to lie somewhere back further the way he came. His mind spoke things that somewhere deep inside him wasn't an option. As if it was that, not his mind that controlled his body. That forced him to continue, even though his muscles burnt, his body ached. Smooth, soft, seductive wishes and promises. Ones that would end the pain, end the chase forever. Ones that were spoken, but known were never even an option. Even though Blaine wished so strongly they were.

The black wasn't sure if he heard the cop anymore, even so short after his passage. He was at least into the next alley, perhaps confused at where Blaine might have gone. Maybe convinced this way was where he had gone, taken lead by the fear and want to be free of his pursuit. It was Blaine's chance to get himself clear, at least take the chase to an area where the cop might be less willing to follow. Blaine wished they had stopped closer to Purebreed territory. Even within running distance.

Should he be that lucky.

Blaine felt the pain in his arm as he leapt for the fire escape ladder. The aged metal didnt give, only wrenching a jolt of agony the length of his body as the full weight of it pulled down on his arm. Rather than drop and try again, Blaine threw his other arm upwards, struggling for the next rung. His body screaming inside as he heaved himself upwards on the strength of his upper body alone. If this didnt work, he was finished. Already he had played so many last chances. Where he lived, it didnt pay not to throw every card in as if it were your last. He risked his body on every turn, took every foolish idea. It was what gave prey their edge.

Blaine found it more and more hard to ignore the obvious as he clambered up the escape. One floor, then the next. Either the cop would hear him, work out what he was doing, or that he had doubled back somehow. Or he would get lucky and manage to make it most the way up the side of that humid shadow of a tenement before the cop worked out where he was.

One more floor.

That deep within dragged him. An invisible hand that held him by the collar of his battered leather jacket. It gleamed dull, wet and glistening in the scant light that managed to claw its way down between the buildings. Blaine felt that hand. Heard the voice that encouraged just a few more steps. He staggered, fell with a bang against the cold metal that he was sure would echo through the narrow back alleys. Blaine lay panting, ragged and hurt. He felt the rain against his cheek, teasing against the wound in his face there.

"I lost him."

"Goes for the fucking nigger I was chasing," it was a younger voice. Blaine could hear the panting, the alleys seeming dead in a strange silence. "don't know where the hell he went."

"Damn it. Lost them both."

"Shoulda fucking shot the bastard. See him try and run without a knee."

"Forget it," age spoke with some strange wisdom, a restraint that almost surprised Blaine where before it had been absent to stop the beatings. "What about whoever he was trying to shoot at?"

"Face down. Took his wallet. Two shots in the chest. What's the fucking use of even calling it in?"

"Head back to the car, we got to call in something."

Blaine heard the annoyed sigh, the questioning tone. It made him mad, angry along with the fact some kid had died. Only to be looted by the very person who could have protected him. It didnt even cross Blaine's mind who the real killer was. Every hateful part of him already branded the two down below his killer a thousand times over. Old thoughts and truths made real by repetition of years.

"What about the other monkey?"

"You didnt see him coming your way? Because that's the way I was chasing him."

"Fuck, I was chasing the shooter your way," the reply came firmly. "You didnt see that one?"

"No."

"Well they didnt just fucking vanish into thin air--"

"Put your gun away, I personally don't feel like chasing either of them down," Blaine could hear movement. "Or staying here alone with either of them still on the loose."

"Why?"

"Because they both have friends. One of them has a gun. The other ones smarting from the beating you gave him. This aint our territory, Alan. We don't have numbers or power here. Work that out. Now, move."

"Fucking niggers."

Blaine swallowed, sickened at what he tasted in his mouth. Maybe it was just raw fear from the chase. Hate. Any number of things. The ghetto was starting to come back to his senses again, slowly. One by one. Like he was finally taking things in further from his pounding heart. His aching lungs. He realized he was staring at the wet wall opposite him, laying sidewards on the escape. He didnt even know how many floors he'd made it up. Enough at least to avoid the two cops. He didnt even have the strength to think those cocky and disrespectful thoughts that he would have from the victory of escape.

His reward beyond being free was the more and more quiet tones of the two cops voices. The knowledge that they probably wouldn't be coming back. In the very worst they would be hanging about the shooting. Giving him time to head in the opposite direction.

Just forever running.

Blaine afforded himself the pleasure of laying where he was for the time being. Feeling the wetness continue to spat lightly against his face. It kept him from falling off into sleep, which he realized he needed now he was able to take stock in the fact. The hurts in his body began to manifest themselves in more substantial and permanent ways. The throbbing hurt at his ribs. The pain in his cheek. The other aches from jumping the fence, and those that he had taken while trying to fend off the beating he'd taken. Blaine tried to let the air into his lungs more gently, laying there on the cold and nasty metal like it was a bed of feathers.

Twenty five. Blaine should have done so much better than he had, even having lived in Irving. The cramped, commercial heavy district of Bradford had plenty of opportunities, even beyond the Purebreeds. But he'd just drifted. Run through life. Never standing still long enough to do more than see the immediate. Twenty five, and all to show for it was that he was alive.

The black was at least strong from the constant activity. Raw athletic strength. His attire perhaps aided in part his take into the shadows of the tenement, all black, other than his now slightly dirtied white wifebeater. It held his strong upper body tightly, clung to him with the dampness that made him feel as dirty, whether sweat or rain. A battered black leather jacket looked as worn as the young man himself, constant reminder and medal of honor of what he had been through. Now sullen and damp too. Sheening dull in the scant light of the night. Baggy black jeans sagged low, ridiculously so in that way that some youth still wore them. Baring his camouflage green boxers. Lending length enough to the legs that had the excess stomped into the street by his booted feet. Ragged and threadbare.

Leather gloves, just as worn. A black leather skullcap, its long chin strap falling loosely. Blaine looked about a pair of goggles away from some sort of urban, post apocalyptic aviator. The leather felt like ungiving extra weight when Blaine reached those desperate, blind stretches of retreat. But there was a warm and comfort in them. Even in the strangely humid night that he found himself in.

Blaine finally dragged himself up, rubbed at his face. Realizing his mistake too late as he touched the hard wound on his cheek. The leather of his glove played over the red wet flesh, the stumble of what grew of a light beard. His features were strong, almost proud, despite those tired and heavy brown eyes of his. When he spoke of his escapades, his latest daring escape, his dark features lit with a boyish enthusiasm and pride. Thick lips drew tired, his expression nearer to defeat than the victory he had scantly pulled in this night.

Where was he? Why was he doing this?

Blaine started to mount the steps to take him the last distance to the top of the building. Maybe to take stock of where he had ended up. Or to go down inside the building. Maybe just to not be where he had been, laying there like some homeless basehead, clinging to the side of the tenement. His boots fell heavy on each step, yet he felt a new fire with the knowledge that he was free for another day.

The youth came up over the top of the tenement, feeling the wind and light rain wash across him like some strangely refreshing shower. His leather jacket made his body feel heavy, only adding to the weight of his bruises, but the smell and sensation in that breeze seemed to wash away just a little of what made his world. Blaine stepped up over the edge, street wisdom hitting home as he glanced about, making sure he was the only one here.

Bradford stretched out in all directions about him. Sight dulled by the dark take of night. The cloak that fell protectively over the ghettos children, hiding them. Guarding them until the break of day. Both their best friend, their worst enemy. Hiding them from enemy, but twofold. Hiding their enemy from them. Blaine felt the surprise within at how high up he was, this strange perspective, despite the fog of night and rain.

Broken glass crunched under his boots as he headed over to the far side, the side he figured was closest to the streets. About him the fingers of the ghetto drew upwards towards the night sky. Tenements and tall buildings, broken homes and businesses, occupying the same drab landscape. Standing like some dark cemetery, each one a tombstone, yet not enough by far for the dead and dying that lived within its grasp. Cold fingers that protested up against the night, reaching out for forgiveness.

Blaine rested his gloved hands down against the side of the building, staring blankly into the wet night before him. Feeling the sounds and sensations seeping into him, where he found himself doing little more than existing. The metal of his handcuff clinked lightly against the brick, lost in the ever present rumble that seemed to brew about him in even the dead of night.

All he could see was black. As far as the night would allow, before those stone fingers lost to the mist of the rain. The black of concrete, into the black of night. Even for the light of the moon, all he saw was the most stark nightmare that confronted him. Realizing sharply, subconsciously, as if he had been staring too long to see it.

Blaine felt like he was being watched.

Feeling his breath a little more comfortable within, the young man rubbed gingerly at his side. Putting his leathered hand inside his jacket. Touching at his side as he turned away from the dream that was. He wanted to leave, and leave now. Where ever didnt matter. As long as it wasn't here. He'd ended up places like this many times before, perhaps not as good as under one of the many highways, or chancing to find some abandoned place that hadn't already been claimed by gang or basehead homeless. But right now, he didnt want to be here.

He still felt like he was being watched.

Calm and pale eyes of death. Unjudging. Uncaring. Just eyes that watched.

Blaine started to head back the way he came, deciding against going down the interior of the building. The cops wouldn't come back, he knew that. All he had to do was head away from where they had stopped the car. Away from the shooting. Then he'd get back out onto the streets. Work out his next move from there. Maybe call in a favor the next morning. Damn his body hurt.

The black felt it as he started back down the fire escape, the continued pain. It wasn't a hindrance now, not to his running and escape. It was just a reality that was. A part of him for the time being. Something that he dismissed now that he had the luxury of doing so. Even though the reminders were there with each jarring step. He descended the floors back towards the alley. Part of him was still running at the speed of the chase, his heartbeat still running quick, despite the time.

Blaine dropped back down onto the wet alley, feeling the jar of his muscles as his weight struck bottom. The black still felt like he was being watched, finding the sensation as hard to shrug off as the cold blanket of rain. Everything he knew told him he was alone. The humid, yet wet hang of the weather. The distant rumble, that pace of traffic far beyond. The sounds of the street had all the sense and purpose of his solitude. Left alone to his own devises. Everything that he had learnt grown up told him this much. Blaine took a generous breath, started to head back towards the way he had originally been heading.

Perhaps another half hour, and hour tops. He'd be free of this nightmare maze, out of this incarnation at least. And into one that perhaps would give him a little more shelter, just a moniker of peace. Just a little while longer.

Blaine froze.

Fear gripped his gut in a tight fistful.

He stared straight down the cold, hard barrel of the pistol. Barely saw the face of the youth holding it.

"Where you from?"

"No where!" Blaine stuttered suddenly. He felt his stomach sicken. His word become unsteady. "I aint from no where, nigga!"

The pistol didnt move, the voice was almost as cold. "You aint Purebreed?"

"No! I aint 'breed. Look, nigga. No fuckin' colors! No piece! Im clean! I aint from no where!"

The figure at the other end of the pistol seemed to glance him over lightly. Casual. So in control where Blaine was at the extreme opposite. He felt as if he might piss himself, as he defended himself in every way he knew how. Trying to express that he was in no way affiliated. Claimed no neighborhood. All the things that would get his head blown off right now. Spell his obvious and sudden death. Blaine felt sickened to his stomach, fear the most powerful. Blinding everything.

"You hurt."

Statement of fact. Cold and straight forward. Blaine tried to concentrate past the pistol that was still aimed faultlessly at his forehead, unmoving. Trained and professional. Part of him saw the light skinned brother that held it. His puffed and afroed hair, touched by the light tears of the rain. A sorrow that seemed far from the youth who held the pistol. A stocky body, clad lightly in loose blacks. A black basketball jersey. Blaine caught the sight of blue against the dark, knotted about the guys right wrist.

"Yeah," Blaine stuttered back. He dragged up the courage to keep talking. Or perhaps it was that, in fact, that gave him courage. His hands were long since up. "I think you saved me, nigga."

Blaine saw the almost questioning glance at his own wrist. The handcuff that still hung from it. As if his words were answer to questions not asked. The black continued to talk, uncomfortable with the silence. Finding a need to fill it, delay that gun.

"I was in the pigs car. When you shot, they stopped. Gave me time to run," he continued to blurt. He felt like he should be begging for his life, maybe that would make that pistol move. "I think ... ah ... thanks, nigga. I ..."

The gun was gone as quickly as he had found it there. The brother holding it shifted passed him, his feet falling almost silently against the wet concrete. Blaine didnt think why he didnt hear the brothers shoes, feeling his knees weaken. As if all the strength that had held him up during the gunpoint encounter was draining from him. His mind put together the few pieces of what had passed. Running into who had both given him his chance to run, and avoided the chase of cops himself.

Blaine continued, faltering, towards the next alley. Putting a hand up to steady himself against the alley wall, the black doubled and threw up. A few violent exhales emptied what still lay unsettled in his stomach onto the alley. He gasped for breath, his gloved hand at his stomach. Wincing as his ribs shot pain through him again. The close call, the escape. Everything that had passed this night so far found its way up through his body. Splashing onto the already wet concrete.

Blaine dropped back against the alley wall for a moment, breathing in tight, bad tasting gasps of air. Nothing would remove that taste of bile in his mouth. Not rest, not time. It served as a reminder of the gun. The experience. Blaine knew it would be marked on him far longer than the taste. Reminding him so coldly and efficiently of how unprepared he was for some parts of the ghetto. How sometimes even the most cunning prey can be caught so totally unaware.

And he still couldnt shake the feeling of those eyes. Watching.

Blaine pushed on, tired. Exhausted. Heading back towards the streets, hoping to come out some distance from the patrol car, if it was still there. His boots felt like weights, the leather of his jacket and gloves further pulling down his body along with the strain of his wounds. The black tried to straighten himself up somewhat, prepare himself to disguise himself among the obvious. Blaine shoved his right hand into the pocket of his baggy jeans, taking the cuff in with him. He dragged a gloved hand down over his face, only causing himself more pain, wiping a streak of red rather than clear it from his face. It looked fresh against the black leather of his glove.

Who would give a fuck anyway. There were stranger sights in the ghetto. Blaine still didnt want to show the obvious signs of weakness. Anything that would make the dark vultures of Bradford descend upon him. Pick at the flesh of his dying body. His mere appearance only invitation, trouble he could do without right now.

When he did finally step back onto the streets of Irving, the absence of those he tried to hide him from only made the whole preparation seem pointless. Blaine glanced either way, the narrow veins of the back alleys leading onto only slightly less broken arteries of the main streets. That which carried the tired and dying blood of Bradford about the body that was.

There were more boarded storefronts than not. Blaine knew that some of those tenements that looked abandoned were far from so. Even those abandoned stores probably served as home to some. Where the ghetto died and those with the means moved on, it always left space for those less fortunate. No space was ever empty for long.

Blaine continued to walk down the poorly lit streets there, glancing up here and there for graffiti. More reliable street sign than those that had long since been destroyed or defaced. Like those busted street lamps above, the last few laying silent sentinel against the dark. Illuminating to those who could see the dark atrocities of the ghetto.

The graffiti told Blaine where he was. Where not to go, how best to get where he needed to. Far more detailed and helpful than even a roadmap. Like even that would do much to aide anyone on Bradfords streets. So far was left unmapped. So far uncaring in accuracy. He saw signs of red, blood streaked across the dead black of the ghetto streaks. He frowned, realizing that perhaps he was closer to Purebreed territory than he had first thought. Sharp streaks across the red told further details. Disputed territory, borderlands to strongholds. Perhaps an even more dangerous place to be caught than in gang territory.

Blaine started down the street, keeping as close to the shadows as he could. Out of the sight and mind of whoever might pass by. The night about him was both dead and dark, yet alive in its own strange ways. Where there was scant a person on the street with him, there were still eyes. Still those that could hear and see. Perhaps from high in those clawed tenements. Maybe even gang watchers. He at least knew where he was, well enough to know where to go. To be out on the streets for as short a time as was needed.

Blaine's mind dwelt on the passed events lightly. He wondered if the shooter would stir up more trouble. He started to wonder who he was, knowing the Purebreeds well enough to know that fighting between cliques was rare. The strikes against the red that he had seen had been black. Loco. Mortal enemy to 'breed. Whoever Blaine had run into in the alley, standing there at the end of his pistol, wasn't hispanic. The young man remembered the flash of blue in his memory, frowning as he turned into the next street over. Catching the sight of an all night grocer.

Blue? What the fuck was blue?

In a social scheme where there was only two colors, black and brown. Red and black. Purebreed and Loco. Blaine had no clue what blue was.

Blaine glanced up sharply as he heard the car approach. It passed him slowly, as he ducked back against the line of buildings. The shadows swallowed him as long as he needed, the black of his garb lending more easy retreat. He glanced after the car as it continued into the next street. Street level right now was a mix of black and white. The harsh reality of concrete mixed with the glare of what was left of overhead lights reflecting in the continued fall of rain. Blaine stepped back out onto the sidewalk, quickening his pace.

Only a few more streets.

The black felt his mind start to move again into automatic. He put one foot in front of another as he continued to work towards his new goal. Niceties like avoiding the eyes of the night, and keeping out of gang territories were starting to slip from his mind. Pushed aside by fatigue, tired and hurt. The humidity was catching under his heavy leather jacket, making his wifebeater cling to his body in a way that made him feel even more uncomfortable. Only further compounded by the bruises and wounds. He was starting to limp.

Blaine pushed onwards, eventually stepping into the dark embrace of one of the more respectable looking tenements. Here, that meant that the front door locked. That the lights outside were replaced when need be. One that even managed to survive despite not having 'breed protection. It looked all the oasis that Blaine felt, a seemingly good conditioned tenement against the war torn surrounds. He paused against heading straight towards its front door, just checking it out momentarily from where he stood paused near its more darkened side.

It looked clear. The ghetto even seemed to be a little more quiet. Blaine heard a car passing somewhere in one of the adjoining streets. He set his mind back on the front door to the tenement.

Firming himself, the black started into the light. No camera inside the reception hallway, not that it would have mattered to him either way. The fact the door resisted when he pushed against it surprised him as much. Blaine glanced over the lock a moment, taking his right hand out of his pocket for the first time since he had come out onto the streets. The black put his weight suddenly and fully into his hip, slamming against the lock.

The scream of wood rung clear through the night. The weight of the blow that sought to end its life. To cut through the scant protection it afforded those within.

Grimacing a little at the pain the sharp motion caused him, Blaine repeated. Crashing with his hip against the door again. Then again. Until finally wood splintered. Mere wood giving in finally to the heavy press of the street nigga, as Blaine broke his way in. He did so without thought of the consequence. He was tired, almost uncaring if there were any. Just wanting to be in off the street, taking the most direct route. Pushing through whatever barriers stood in his way.

Closing the door back over, Blaine heard it bang heavily. Now no longer having the ability to lock closed, the mechanism torn from its housing. Useless. The black continued into the reception as if he lived there, belonged there. Had just opened the door with a key, rather than the key of his heavy body. He squinted against the volume of light he encountered there. It only made his injuries and exhaustion feel worse. Like the night had taken him within its fold, for favours of concealment, the price being the pain of light. Blaine flicked the lights off, feeling the comfort of darkness settle back down on him again.

This place was familiar enough to navigate in the dark anyway. He headed towards the stairwell.

Only a few more floors.

Blaine felt the strain of ascending the stairs, feeling at least that he was out of the streets for just a moment. Perhaps long enough to rest up, catch his breath. Move on away from here and the dangers it held, so close to Purebreed strongholds. His leg was hurting, his ribs too. Blaine was starting to feel as if there were scant few places left in his body that didnt. He counted the floors off as he went, wondering if perhaps he was at the floor he thought as he pushed open the door to head back out into the hallway.

Left? No, right.

Blaine knew these doors as well as he knew the front one. He slipped his fingers into the underside of his right glove, remembering as he felt the cold there that he was still wearing the cuffs there. Pulling out the small piece of wire that he had used originally to escape them, if even only by half. The black stepped towards the door at the end of the corridor, glancing up only lightly at the metal number there. The wire was already working into the lock in an expert and practiced motion. It came open as easily as if he had just put the key in there.

Slipping the wire back into his glove, Blaine stepped inside, closing the door lightly behind him. Taking care this time that he remained quiet to the task. The inside of the apartment was comfortably dark for his shadowed soul, warm and bereft of light much like a mothers woom, rather than the uncomfortable places he had paused only moments outside in the ghetto. Here, he felt safe, at least as safe as he could.

All around him were signs of that safety. A home how it should be, personal and cared for. Even in the drab colors of night, Blaine could make out the familiar signs. A place that was small, but well loved. This place was more than just a place where one could lay their head until the passing of night. It was a place where one could live, as rare a thing as that was in the dark fist of the ghettos grasp. A true oasis from the storm of hatred and death.

At least that's what Blaine assumed it still was.

Blaine headed quietly towards the bedroom, glancing inside. He could still taste the bile and sick in his mouth, thinking it was the first thing he wanted to clean himself of. Already thinking as he mad speedy plans in his more relaxed and easy state. Now he was clear of the streets long enough to make them. Blaine looked into the equally dark, and personal interior of the bedroom. As flawlessly kept as the rest of the apartment. As flawlessly kept as its owner.

"I thought I took your key back?" The voice was calm and firm.

"Uh, it was unlocked," Blaine replied back, collected in his lie.

"I never leave the door unlocked. You know that."

Blaine just stood there at the door, surprised that Adam was even awake. Positive that he couldnt have woken him on the way in. Surely he couldnt have heard him, when he had taken cares not to make any noise. The thoughts passed from his tired mind almost as quickly as they had entered. He didnt really care, knowing that he would have to wake the guy up sooner or later, to get what he needed.

"Well, it was unlocked this time," Blaine continued to lie. He heard the rather annoyed sigh, saw the movement as Adam swung himself out of the large double bed. Put his feet down on the ground.

"You have any idea what the time is?"

"No, but you gonna tell me, probably."

"Yes," Adam replied. "I am. 3am. So why the heck are you coming up in here at 3am in the morning." Blaine was ready with another lie, but he didnt get a chance to speak it. "Forget that, I don't even want to know."

The sudden light made Blaine wince with the ferocity of the ones downstairs. Smaller by far, only a bedside lamp, yet its lack of volume made up by its sudden appearance. The black lowered his head a little, raising it when he realized what it exposed. Adam was still sitting there, half in his bed, the blankets still swept casually across his lap. The soft light, all too harsh for Blaine, illuminated the young man and the small bedroom in a muted glow. Bringing out the almost golden browns of Adams skin. There was a seduction there in those curves that even Blaine couldnt totally denigh.

Curves that Blaine would find attractive, he thought. If he went that way.

Adam stretched a little, unappreciated of the waking. A severe expression that hardened features that were more than handsome. Seductive, smooth, almost hypnotizingly so. Eyes that held and commanded. Suggested. A face that would grace magazines, gospel to the masses that begged to follow and worship. A power that seemed wasted to the hardness of those eyes, the strength of frown. An angel that had long since fallen from the heavens, taking hard the fall, and lessons learnt.

Blaine knew he was naked, even though he could only see that which the blanket didnt cover. Adam was unashamed in the least. Even in perhaps one of the most quiet and sacred places as ones bed. He sat there looking as if perhaps even a world of eyes wouldn't have made a difference. Eyes that would have stroked and played across those equally smooth muscles. A gentle brown, enhanced in part by the play of light over his body. Casting his face in hard shadow. Blaine had long since thought how he would die for a body like that, even if it meant being hispanic like Adam.

Adams features reflected his heritage with a strength and pride that Blaine knew the young man for. Black cornrows swept back over his head, a pencil thin goatee and beardline that only further spoke of his exacting personal attentions. Born with a natural ability to stun, only further enhanced with the attentions of his time. Smoothness of the heavens marred in part by the hells of the ghetto.

'God Adam is phine', Blaine thought, as the hispanic finally stood up beside the bed.

'God does he look angry.'

"So that's why your here?" Adam asked, his voice coming off hard, as always. "Looking for a midnight fuck? No, don't answer that either."

Adam already had a hand up to stay Blaine's mouth, as the black realized he was more than staring at his body. Exposed fully, as naked as he had thought, now free of the blankets of his bedding. An angelic tapestry, completed so softly, so heavenly. Blaine felt the feelings he knew he didnt want to. Felt the physical effects it had on him. The possibility and comfort of those curves, that embrace. It banished all the pain he felt. He lowered his head, realizing that Adam could still read him like a book. Turned away from the door to lean back against the door frame. Replacing the views of heaven with that of the lounge.

"How longs its been?"

Blaine wasn't sure how best to answer that question, deciding to play it safe. "A while." Adam was moving about inside the bedroom, probably getting dressed.

"How long you here for?"

"Probably not too long," Blaine replied. There was no safe answer to that question, he knew. "I don't want to piss you off any more."

"Having you around doesn't piss me off, Blaine," said Adam. "Its not knowing when your coming back."

"Yeah, well that's in the past," he muttered, darkly. "And I told you not to call me that."

Adam stepped up beside him. White tank top, silk boxers. No longer naked. The hispanics tone was somewhat caustic, "So what you having your boys call you now?"

"I told you before, my names Black."

"Well Im not your boys, Blaine," replied Adam coolly, walking passed him into the lounge. "And Im not playing along with your street shit."

"I told you about that shit before, man," Blaine said, feeling the anger creeping in again. The words scratched at past memories, like sores that had never truly healed. Adam turned on the lounge light, the black was far from prepared for the assault on his eyes.

"Oh shit, what have you got yourself into this time?"

Adam was looking at him, Blaine realizing exactly how bad he actually looked now that he was in the full light of indoors. His leathers were sullen and dull, his wifebeater dirtied by his passage through the ghetto. No part of him was left untouched, no part of anyone was ever left untouched, going through the ghettos of Bradford, even if for the shortest of periods.

Blaine felt the hurt. Despite the hardness in Adams handsome face, he saw the hurt there too.

"For Gods sakes, come and sit down," Adam muttered, pulling out one of chairs from the table. Blaine started over towards it. "Ill get something for that."

Blaine felt a little of the fatigue wane from his body as he let his weight down into the chair. Adam headed into the kitchen, leaving him alone with his thoughts, in the small lounge. Far too tidy, far too well kept. Blaine wondered when he had ever seen it beyond this perpetual cleanness. The cushions placed perfect on the one couch there. The couch placed too well before the television, stereo. The remote was still in its 'home', right there on the coffee table. Blaine stared back over towards Adam as he came back in, putting the medical things down on the table.

"Take off your jacket."

Blaine did as he was told, feeling as if he was all but peeling a second skin off his body. He managed to shrug his shoulders out of it without causing himself too much pain. The cuffs caught on the right arm as he tried to pull free of the heavy jacket. Adam had already noticed the handcuffs, probably drawn all the correct conclusions. Blaine knew that he would probably bring it up before long. Adam was there to take the jacket off him as he got it off, brush it down lightly of what moisture was still gathered there. Hang it over the back of one of the free chairs.

"You want to know?" Blaine said quietly, hoping perhaps this would soften a little more that severe expression. "I mean, what happened."

"No."

"Not even if its the truth?"

Adam let our a sigh, as he headed back into the kitchen. Started to run some water. Blaine didnt bother pushing the issue. He didnt feel overly guilty that this is where he had ended up. He knew that Adam would help him. It was just a matter of how much he made him suffer during the help that concerned Blaine. He waited until Adam returned, in silence. Adam put down a bowl of hot water down on the table, next to the medical things, busying himself with them. Blaine wouldn't even have a clue what he was doing, just knew it would make him feel better.

"Not even the truth, Adam?" Blaine asked, using his name on purpose.

"The truth is never the whole truth with you, Blaine," replied Adam quietly. Blaine went ahead with it anyway.

"I got dragged in by some cops."

"Yeah, I figured that much," Adam replied, just a little sarcastically. Blaine knew that tone well.

"Yeah well, they dragged me in," continued Blaine. He tried to sound sincere, especially now. Especially considering it was the truth. It was something he spoke so seldom he was sure it marred the sincerity of everything he said. "I wasn't doing anything, Adam. I swear."

"No cars this time?" the tone was still unforgiving. Cold.

"No, man. Serious. I was just sitting over at Russell Park, I was gonna head over to Mookies for the night," Blaine said. He saw the doubting expression as Adam put a cloth into the water and medicine. The doubt hurt him, made him angry. "Fuck man, its the truth."

"Im sure it is."

"They beat me down, Adam," Blaine tried to puff himself up a little. "They cuffed me up and beat me down like a dog."

"What did you expect?" replied Adam. "Living like you are, it was only a matter of time before it happened."

Blaine felt disappointed that that was all the truth got him. Those same unyielding walls. He muttered darkly, "Fuck, man. Why you wanting to fuck with me like that, even when I tell you the truth."

The cloth stung as Adam began to dab at the wound on his face, adding further hurt to the hard words. Adam told him to hold still, Blaine more than able to take the stinging after what he'd been through so far tonight.

"Quit using that language or Ill put you back outside," Adam replied quietly. He sighed again. "Your not going to be able to outrun them your whole life, Blaine. Sooner or later they are going to catch you, and your not going to get a beat down. Your going to get a bullet."

"Do you even believe me?" Blaine bit back sharply. "Ouch!"

"For what its worth, yes," replied Adam, rinsing the cloth a little. "I believe you." Blaine looked at him carefully, as if there was a chance he was lying. Knowing that he believed him didnt make things any more easy. He still looked as hard as he always did.

"So how long are you here," Adam asked. "Seems your in the mood for truth."

Blaine wasn't ashamed to ask, or take. "Well, I was hoping you could hide me for the night."

"What? They're following you?" Adam gave him a look that asked if he was truly that stupid. Blaine replied quickly.

"No, they aint following me," he said. "I just need somewhere to rest. I swear man, Ill leave as soon as I can. Ill go over to Mookies place. Im happy with the couch."

"Your not sleeping on my couch," Adam replied, cleaning the last of the blood off Blaine's face.

"Please."

"Oh, you learnt that word?"

"Fuck, Adam, give me a fucking break," Blaine bit back again. He knew the language was forbidden and would only worsen things, but the anger just kept coming up in him. If only the bastard would give just an inch.

"No, Blaine, give me a break," replied Adam quietly, cool as usual. "Im not saying I don't want to help you."

"Then why don't you want to give me your couch?"

"I want to help you, but I don't want to help you when it means your just going to run out again."

Blaine knew what this was about. He knew what this was all about, what it was always ever about. It hit him straight to his gut as he remembered all the times in the past this had come up. It wasn't the first time they had sat here, had his conversation. Whether it was here, or somewhere else. Whether it was this subject that started it or not. It always came back to the same thing.

"I am not," Blaine muttered, but it was as much a lie as it always was. Just something to say back.

"Oh?" questioned Adam, taking the words on board, ignoring the tone. "So your telling me that your not going to walk out this time?"

"Fuck you Adam, I've told you before, its over," Blaine shot back, with a sudden anger. "Im not even like that!"

"Blaine, as much as you can shove your cock up in some bitches pussy to try and convince yourself otherwise," Adam said, seeming to ignore the direct insult. "We both know exactly what your like."

"Whatever we had, man, it was passing. Ok? I don't like guys. You know that." Blaine stood up, dismissing the effect he saw those words had. He didnt care if saying them hard had a worse effect than the constant cussing. Adams voice was strangely subdued when he finally replied.

"I know what I know, Blaine. I know you. Even if you don't."

"Fuck that."

"If you want to run away from everything, that's fine with me," Adam said. "Run away from yourself. Run away from me. Fuck you too." The words sounded a lot more harsh coming from the hispanics lips. He said them so rarely, the poison only making them hit more hard.

"So are you helping me or not?" Blaine asked, wanting to get at least that straight. Adam wasn't even looking at him anymore.

"Ill help you this one last time, Blaine," replied Adam, firmly, resigned. "But if you walk out this time, don't bother coming back. Not for anything, understand?"

Blaine frowned, "What are you saying?"

"Im saying that if you walk out this time, don't expect to be able to come back. I know what you want Blaine, but until you work that shit out yourself, I don't want any more part of you."

Blaine was still frowning, still standing there, hurting inside and out. What the hell was making Adam act like this? What was he saying? That he couldnt ever come around again? That he didnt want to be friends? The hispanic was still looking as hard and severe as he always did.

"Ill help you this last time," Adam repeated. "Whether you want to walk out and go back to Mookie and your boys is up to you. But if you do, Ill be calling the police next time you come in here. And I don't care if they beat you down, or shoot you."

Blaine just stood there and stared at Adam, trying to work out what was going on in the hispanics head. Sure, they had had this arguement a million times before. But it usually ended up more often than not with him walking out, not this. Not Adam saying crazy shit like this. Blaine tried to work out what Adam was really meaning. Trying to see if there was something beyond the obviousness of his words.

Adam was just staring at him, that cold stone handsomeness of his reflected in every smooth curve of his face. Those dark eyes of his, staring back, refusing to back down or give even a mere inch. It was a hardness that Blaine was used to. He gave up even before he began to understand what bought this much on.

"Cool," he muttered back. "Ill take the couch."

"Your not taking the couch."

"What the fuck you mean? I thought you said you were going to help me?" Blaine protested. Adam was giving him a look that told him to shut and sit down. He did. Adam looked at him with those hard brown eyes of his.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Blaine muttered his reply, "Ill live."

"Good. Then follow me, Im taking you downstairs. You can sleep it out down there."

"Your making me sleep in the basement?" Blaine asked, frowning again. Maybe Adam was serious.

"Its either the basement or the street. You want my help, you sleep down there."

"Sure," Blaine grunted, resigning himself to his fate. Adam stood up and grabbed up his jacket. "Whatever."

"If you want to come back up when you done sleeping, that's up to you," replied Adam, passing Blaine his jacket. "But I don't want you sleeping up here. Not so soon after you been running from the cops."

"Man, it aint even like that. I shook them," Blaine protested. He got back up again, just holding onto his jacket. Trying to make sense and reason. "You know me."

"Yeah I do know you," Adam said, going into the bedroom momentarily. He returned with a blanket and pillow. "that's why your sleeping downstairs."

Part of Blaine was ignoring Adams tone, as hard as it was to ignore it, and those hard, severe stares of his. His mind kept coming back to those smooth features, lightly, when the conversation would allow it. Dwelling on the nicer times when Adam had just helped him out, not given him the stress that he was giving him now. For all the hardness in Adams face, he still remembered the time when they were softer. When there was more care in his expression. Not now, when things seemed as hard as the streets he was running from. Part of him tried to ignore Blaine's unforgiving words, his ultimatums. Part of him could see that Adam was serious. That this was it.

"Look, man, if its my friends ..."

Adam looked tired, not because he had been woken up at 3am in the morning. Tired because he was tired of explaining what he had obviously so many times before, "Its got nothing to do with your friends, Blaine."

"You want me to turn my back on them, don't you?"

"No I don't," Adam replied. "I just don't want you turning your back on me. And turning your back on you." Adam passed him the pillow.

"Adam," said Blaine, thinking that if he kept saying it enough, perhaps Adam would believe him. "I don't like guys. I never have. Why you want me to give up the streets for something I don't like?" Adam frowned darkly, an expression that came easily on his smooth face. "Not you, man, I mean guys."

"Your just scared of what your friends will think," replied Adam, bundling the blanket under one arm. "that's all it is. I don't need to tell you this, Blaine."

"I don't like guys." Adam was already pointing him towards the door. Blaine let out a sigh and started towards it, Adam following him close behind. "There aint nothing you can say or do to convince me otherwise, man. You know that."

Blaine waited as Adam scooped up his keys, locked the door behind them. The hispanic as unashamed as ever that he was standing in the hallway in his boxers and a tank top. Blaine just let the crushing silence descent upon them as Adam headed into the stairwell, leading the black down. The silence only invited the thoughts now that there was nothing to stay them. Blaine found himself staring at Adams ass, in those loose silk boxers. Wishing that he wasn't, but finding his eyes drawn back there again, to the smooth, muscular spread of his thighs, his calves.

He knew what he had to do. Blaine knew with every ounce of his being what he had to do. What he grew up knowing how to do. He had to run. As soon as he had slept some of this hurt off.

Even if it meant never seeing Adam again?

Blaine felt the fatigue in his body more than ever as he continued down those stairs. He spent his life on the streets. Running from the cops. Running from the Purebreeds, the Locos. Running from everything. He drifted, slept where he could, whether that was with friends, or under some highway here or there. He got by. Even if he didnt see friends, he knew that he would see them again eventually. Knowing that his running the streets would take him back to them eventually. They always did.

None of them had ever told him not to come back. Just because he wasn't always there.

Blaine thought about what it would mean never to see Adam again. It confused him. Everything confused him. He felt himself angry at himself. Angry at Adam. Angry at the cops who chased him, beat him. Angry at everything. He felt his expression harden, wondered if this was what Adam felt that marked those so beautiful features with such a cruelness. Why was everything so hateful and angry that it had to ruin everything?

Blaine felt like he was being lead to the chair. Each floor taking him closer and closer. From the Deaths Row that had been Adams warm and secure apartment. Each step felt heavier. Each footfall weighing more and more strongly upon his emotions, on his soul. He lowered his head as Adam eventually pulled open the door to the basement. It felt hot inside. Blaine could feel the heat wash across him, as if Adam had opened some door to hell itself.

Run.

Keep running and don't stop.

Run from your past. Its what you know how to do. Run from everything.

Run from yourself.

Run from Mookie. Run from Adam.

Run from your home. Just don't look back.

The words continued to echo through his head as he stepped into the dark warmth. Surprisingly it was more comforting than he thought, soothing a little of his aches. It made him want to sleep. To listen to the other voices that told him to just lay down, promised him that one thing that would take away all the fear and pain. The dark warmth in there was like Adams apartment. A mothers womb different from the humid darkness of the streets.

Blaine's eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, aided in part by the few dirty windows that looked out on almost alley level. Darkened alcoves in the street similar to the ones that Blaine had used to avoid the cop that chased him. The room smelt a little musty, but was clean, more due to disuse than anything else. A few boxes piled at one end, showing their age. A large boiler and a spiders web of metal piping occupied what little other space there was. A solid door on the other side, obviously leading out.

Blaine's mind pricked him again, reminded him of instinct. What true path to follow. The urges to sleep were stronger.

"You'll be safe down here," Adam said, sounding rather subdued. "No one ever comes down here, and its not my apartment."

"Thanks," muttered Blaine. He glanced over to near the boiler, wondered where best to put down his bedding. Adam handed him the pillow. As comfortable as it felt here, a concrete floor was never a forgiving bed.

"Im serious about what I said, Blaine."

Blaine still felt the urges within him. The realities of running were pounded back to him again with Adams words. He gave the hispanic a glance. Perhaps a last glance. He felt what he saw make him hard inside. It didnt arouse him like it might. It just made him hard. Those so smooth muscles. That shade of brown that he had laid with so many nights. Even more those brief times alone. He realized with a sharpness how many of those later times ended up with him walking out. Running.

"I know."

"You walk out when you've done sleeping, I don't want to see you again." The words sounded a little hoarse.

'don't do this to me, man,' Blaine wanted to say. 'don't make me choose. I don't understand. None of it makes sense. Why do I have to choose?'

"If you walk out. don't come back."

"I know."

Blaine dropped his jacket and bed-things down, squatting to organize them into some sort of thing that he could sleep on. His ribs hurt again, sharply, reminding him that beyond the emotion hurt, his body was still hurting. He put his gloved hand there at his side, feeling the cuff that was still connected there by one hit against him. Blaine thought to work on the lock there to finally get it free, now that he was able to. The black tried to spread the blanket out, under one of the few dirty, muggy windows.

"Ill make sure theres some food for you, if you end up staying."

The words sounded hopeful, surprised Blaine by part. He didnt expect to hear them, either those words in particular, or the voice. Expecting that Adam would have left him silent and alone. As alone as he could be right now, with all that kept him company. The black glanced over, saw the hispanic still standing there by the door.

"Thanks," Blaine replied, dull. Not knowing what more to say.

"If you don't leave ..."

Blaine heard the door close quietly. Knew, even though he was staring at the ground again, that Adam was inside, rather than out. The silence fell down between the two of them. He could hear his breath, feel the soft and warm fingers of the rooms heat caressing across his body. It occurred to him, then for some reason, that his face didnt hurt as much as it did. The help that Adam had given him there lost for the hard words exchanged. Blaine thought that he could hear Adams breath too.

Blaine didnt want to be here. Not right now. He wanted to be anywhere, just not here. He felt Adams eyes upon him. He didnt know how the hispanic was looking at him. Whether it was that same hard expression, or perhaps something softer. Hinted at by the almost gentle give of his last few words. But he could feel them all the same. The black stood up, glancing over at Adam, not sure what to expect. Still knowing that he wanted to be somewhere else. Knowing what he would think if he let his eyes travel those well worn tracks.

Adam was nothing short of stunning. Blaine knew it in his heart. Felt those truths make him rise somewhat. He didnt even want to let himself look at Adam like that. Those smooth, muscular arms, brown like soft chocolate. Skin that Blaine knew would melt in his mouth for just the merest licks. Shoulders that he found even himself holding on to for their strength. So pent and hard. Like that chest, held trapped within the tightness of his tank top.

His expression was a little softer, but still hard. Why would he waste his face to look like that?

At times it made Blaine feel ugly, like there was no way he could possibly compare. No one could, truly. There was a subtle, yet not so subtle grace and poise about Adams muscular form. A true classical beauty that transcended man and woman. How could Blaine, of anyone, compare to that? But at times those strong arms made Blaine feel like there was no better place he could run to. To look at Adams face made him feel like there was nothing more beautiful in the whole world than himself, and Adam.

Blaine found himself wishing he could see that face sleeping, just one more time. When Adam slept, there was none of that hardness. No severity to those smooth features. A full, soft handsomeness, not some cruel beauty. As the black looked at Adam there, he wished he could see that, not what he did. Yet Adams features seemed to linger strangely on that edge. They dropped a little when he realized that Blaine was looking straight back at him.

"Blaine ..."

The tone sounded almost apologetic. Smooth, slow. Almost crossed at purposes. The black lowered his head a little, feeling Adam cross the short distance of the basement to stand before him. He felt that urge to run again. To be anywhere else but here. He didnt want to feel what he was feeling. He didnt want to do what he knew he was going to do. He felt Adams hand on his arm, felt the heat flush through his body, increased tenfold by the warmth within the basement.

"Adam," he replied, firmly, stepping back a little. "Man ... I don't do that. I don't like it."

"Why you always have to run?"

"I don't like guys."

"I know you like guys," Adam replied quietly. He only followed Blaine, step for step, staying close. Blaine swallowed, feeling it score his throat.

"I don't like them, ok?"

"Blaine ..."

"Why the fuck are you doing this to me?" Blaine shouted suddenly. He found himself staring into Adams eyes. Those smooth, deep brown eyes. That loving face, hardness dropped for longing and want. He wasn't ready for that. There was no other way he could feel looking at what he saw.

Adams hands were on his arms, burning a slow and passionate passage up the muscle there. Blaine quivered at the touch, as if it were anything other than the gentle caress that it was. There was no mistaking the intention of a touch like that. The closeness between them was nothing less than intimate. A tender closeness. Fear ran ragged in Blaine's heart. Deep in his soul.

"Adam ... man ... I don't do this no more. I told you ... please man ..."

Adams hands roamed up to his shoulders, seemed to soothe away the hurt that still reminded him the night passed. His face was too close to his. His lips seemed to almost play against the leather chin strap of his skullcap that still hung loose there. A slow, seductive passage as the muscular hispanic leant in closer. As if, perhaps, to hug him. Hold him. Perhaps make everything better. Blaine felt scared. He still wanted to run. To the arms of the ghetto, far less soft and caring than those which moved to hold him. A want that confused him.

Blaine just stood there, shaking lightly as Adams hands moved down to his leathered hands. Ran back up his dark arms, running smooth brown against darker. Promising an even more delicious mix should the union become closer. Two browns, so smooth, mixing like chocolate into coffee. Blaine could almost taste the pleasure of Adams touch, even though his arms hurt as the hispanic drew them upwards with his own. He could feel the closeness of Adams lips, tempting his own. Promising sweetness beyond his dreams. Making his member throb within the looseness of his sagging jeans.

"I don't want this," Blaine managed somehow. Even though so many parts of him wanted this. "I don't want this, man ..."

"I know you want this."

Click.

"Im going show you that you want this."

Blaine pulled his arms forward, from where they had danced up with Adams above his head. The black felt the confusion when they didnt give. Realizing the sensation that his left wrist was cuffed, again. The metal of the cuffs clanked against the pipe as he tried to pull loose, but found himself trapped.

Here.

Now.

He couldnt run. Forced to face what he would rather not. The emotions. Adam. All that both entailed in the thick cocktail of feelings and thoughts and questions. All that found some strange solstice within Adams embrace. In that one place he found himself unable to admit that he wanted. Even if that was what he truly wanted.

"Adam ..."

"We both want this."

Adams hands played smoothly down along his arms again, dancing softly there along the dark curves of his muscles. Blaine felt his breath on his neck, hot. Aroused. Heavy. His lips still toying too closely to his own. To his neck. Shoulders. Anywhere where they promised to fall in a soft rain of pleasure across his skin. Blaine tugged again at the cuffs, feeling his will sapping. They didnt come free. He couldnt run.

"I want this."

"Adam ... I ..."

"Just hang there if you want," Adam said, almost in a whisper. "Right now, I got you how I always wanted you."

Blaine felt the warmth of the room sweep across him, wondering if it were that or the eventual arousal of Adams touch that was making him seem weak. Almost dizzy in the darkness there. Nothing would exist right then and there. Nothing but Adam and him, alone in the hidden secret that they held. No one would find them, no one would be able to walk in and save him from himself. From that which made his penis thick, hard within his jeans. Blaine tried to call this whatever he could to make it seem right in his mind.

One last time.

Adams hands ran down over his tight wifebeater. Tugging once, wrenching at the tight material. Then again. The sound of ripping filled the shadowed warmth of their silent and private act. Blaine's leather gloves creaked warmly as his fists clenched. More at the sudden roughness than anything else, the treatment that made his hard member ache. Ache with the passionate promise of what was so obvious to come. He felt a little of the pain still in his upper body, the fatigue of the night, as his wifebeater ripped open. Blaine found his breath ragged with the arousal.

Blaine felt the sudden thrill of Adams touch, wandering hungrily over his chest. Working inside the tatters of his clothing there. A tightness that suddenly gave to the greedy tearings of the hispanic, his hands stroking among the remains. Blaine gasped as Adams palm ran across his nipple, the touch sending an almost electric shudder through his trapped form. His gloves creaked again strongly as he clenched his fists against the erotic pleasure. He hung heavily, feeling the metal of the cuffs start to bite into the leather that they were thankfully closed over.

The sound of their hot panting was broken again by another sharp rip. Adam completing the task that he had started in his want to make Blaine more naked. Mere material falling in tatters away from the hispanics assault. The hispanic beginning a new assault, one of the flesh, as his mouth dived down to the nipple that he had but seconds ago thrilled with the touch of his palm. Blaine writhed against the captivity of his cuffs, but more in pleasure than a want to escape. What little will was left in him that told him to flee, sucked out by that hot, wet, embracing mouth.

Adams kisses were always so soft. Blaine didnt know if it was because they were a mans lips, or because they were his. No woman had ever seemed to kiss him like that. His head hung, Blaine stared down at the hispanic as he worked greedily, adding the wet sounds of his mouth to the moans, the hot and ragged gasps. The tight gasps that escaped Blaine as he felt Adams hand wander down his naked back. A hand moved to his ass, that so sacred of places. The most untouchable to Blaine's straight spoken mind.

'I want this so bad ...' Blaine thought, seeing Adam moving below him. He gripped helplessly at the pipe he was chained to. 'I think I do ... one last time ...'

Blaine felt himself sullen at the conflict. His mind in turmoil as his body was painted with so many rich colors of pleasure. Why couldnt his mind just be quiet to the sensations that ran so smoothly across his body. Blazed within his chest, his ass. His still throbbing member where it all but held his jeans up for the looseness of his belt. Blaine couldnt want for anyone more phine. Anyone more skilled in knowing what he wanted, how best to do it.

'Adam ... why do you have to be so beautiful. Why do you have to do this?'

Blaine let out a gentle moan as Adams lips moved down his body. A slow and inevitable fall to the very center of his being. His hands working down to the deep sag of his jeans to loosen the belt. With that mere resistance gone, Blaine's cock did a poor job at keeping the heavy material up, Adams attentions soon loosening them sufficiently to see them puddle about his ankles. Leaving the black hanging in just his camoflague green boxers, pushed so absurdly by the steel hardness within. The hint of their maleness hung in the air about them. Mingled with the heat of their passions, the still warm caress of the room.

Blaine hung silently as Adam pulled off his tank top. All but pealed it up off his incredible physique. Whatever resistance Blaine thought he could raise, whatever protection of words and thoughts he thought he could put against that sight fell. There was no way he could justify in his mind what he felt seeing those muscular curves. Where he had put aside such emotions seeing Adam in his bedroom, even for the briefest of moments, in less than what he was now. Blaine felt the past within him. The eternity he had spent in that firm embrace, feeling that hardness, swept back across him. Swept away what little resistance remained like a mere dust on the hot breeze of their breath.

Blaine was captured in the time that it took Adams tank top to fall to the ground. Held captive there by the cuffs that bound him above, even their absence would not have allowed him to run. His lips were dry. Thirsty. Already too far lost in the soothing liquids of Adams form, lost in that fluid grace and poise.

Blaine tightened his fists about the pipe as he felt his boxers come down. Words seemed far from his mind, far from Adams, as the soft material brushed down over his thighs. Released his hard cock into the warmth of the dark room. At least words other than those spoken with touch and taste. Those passionate melodies that Blaine heard within him as he hung all but naked before Adam.

He felt more than bared, more than just physically naked. So many times he had come to Adam for little more than sex. Even those times when he had needed money, or food, or somewhere to sleep, only to get what he needed and have it eventuate into sex. This one time when he had come with that one thing the furthest from his mind. All but running scared for the beatings. The challenges of his affiliations at gunpoint. Blaine felt more unprepared now than he ever had. More bared, and yet Adam just seemed to push straight through that. Into his most weakest spots.

Adam touched him there. Touched that spot that he knew so well, knew how so easily to play. Blaine let out a shuddered moan, letting his legs spread. Feeling Adams fingers touch so lightly over his heavy nuts where they hung there. Teasing and playing across their underside. A violent quiver gripped Blaine's body where it hung, his fists tightening again. His cock stood raw and rigid, teased and aroused. Partly by the touch.

Mostly by how trapped he was. By the cuffs that bound him, powerless to run from the pleasures that burned within him. By the overwhelming lusts.

Blaine spread his legs as he gave himself over to the reality of his situation more and more. Drinking in the sight of Adam squatted before him. Knowing as the hispanic continue to stroke the heavy underside of his nuts that he was right. He wanted this. He liked this. And more than anything, he wanted it with Adam. He wanted that smooth and muscular male form, embraced with his. He wanted to feel his hands running down every smooth inch of it.

Blaine's hands tightened, this time his struggle increasing because of a want to use his hands, not to escape. Not to run. His mind turning slowly in his head, those words that spoke to him singing new songs within. Run to him. Run to the pleasure. Everything that you know within you knows that you want to run there. Right now, all Blaine wanted was to touch Adam. Touch himself. But the chains of his captivity clanked again against the pipe where he was bound.

"Adam ... man ... let me go," he panted quietly. "Please ..."

The hispanic continued to tease at his loose, low nuts. His fingers running over the slight hair that gathered there as they played again between his thighs, taking the softness of his balls into his palm. Letting them drag loosely across his hand. Adams breath was hot against Blaine's organ. His sensitive nuts blazed in a trail of pleasure that ran with Adams gentle, teasing touch. His hardness hurting in a fierce hotness, stiff and unforgiving in its rigid stand.

Adams other hand worked slowly up behind his body, stroking as gently at the soft skin there. Blaine panted heavily, his head still hung, still staring down at the hispanics muscular body. He saw how his boxers lay jutted aside heavily, the smell of his sex joining with his own as he hung there. Blaine could feel the warmth of the room join with the heat of their bodies. of their slow sex. Making his head dizzy somewhat, his dark skin sweaty.

"This way you don't run out," Adam muttered quietly. "And I know Im going to hear you say what we both know."

"Fuck, Adam," panted Blaine, still burning with the sensation in his loose nuts. "You know I like this. I like it, Adam. I want it. I want you."

"You just saying what I want to hear."

"Im saying it because Im hard as fuck for you," Blaine replied, groaning. "How couldnt I be, man. You got me chained up here, playing with my nuts ..."

Adam ran his fingers up lightly over Blaine's hard shaft, slowly standing up before the black. Blaine could feel his breath hot against his skin. His face was hard, still, yet confused. Sad. An expression the scared Blaine in its sincerity. In its mere presence.

"You were saying a few minutes back how you don't like guys."

"I don't ..." the black frowned, squirmed, trapped. "Fuck, Adam, you playing with my nuts. Of course I like that. You got me horny as fuck."

Adams dark eyes lingered on his, that expression still heavy on his features. There was a smooth slowness about the hispanic, something seductive. Dangerous. A streak that Blaine had seem before in him, knew him for. One that he didnt expect to be manifesting like this. His lingering eyes looked alone. Blaine tried not to look there too long. Hearing Adams words soft against his skin as he spoke them.

"What do I have to say to make you stay?"

"Adam ... man ... I want to stay. I want to be with you ..." Blaine felt unsure as he said those words, they felt strange on his lips, stranger to hear. "But ... man, why you doing this? Why you making me choose?"

"I don't want you to walk out again."

"I wont."

"You will."

"I swear," Blaine panted, still feeling Adams hands, holding his hot skin. "I wont. Ill stay."

"You've said that before," replied Adam, still cool. The hispanics head was low. "Things wont change."

"Ill change."

Blaine felt Adams lips at his, and he gave to them. Kissing back strongly, pulling at his cuffs. Trying to take every part of Adam in that he could, doing everything possible, as if his lips alone you touch and take every hard muscle of the hispanics body into his embrace. If he only kissed hard enough. He heard the quiet hiss of silk on skin. Felt Adam press naked against his body. Blaine wanted so badly to use his hands, slip into the embrace that he felt melting about his body. Joining brown with brown. His body with Adams.

"It feels so good to hear you say that ..."

"I will," Blaine muttered hotly. "Ill change. Ill be with you, man."

"I feel so complete with your body against me. I feel so helpless at how you make me feel, Blaine," the words were quiet, as soft and comforting as those hands. The arms about his still sore form. The warmth of Adams body. "How I feel when you leave. How I feel when you come back. And then leave again."

"I wont do it anymore, man," replied Blaine. He tried to kiss again at Adams skin. "I don't wanna hurt you anymore."

"I know you don't."

Blaine felt the urgent, yet slow rubbing against him. The brand of Adams hot sex pressing hard against his stomach, mingling in its hellishly hot touch with his own cock. A heat that overwhelmed all others, was the burning source of all heat. All passion. Blaine responded firmly, moaning, his eyes wide at the sight of Adams sinuously muscular body, moving naked against his own. The soft and gentle contrast of their skin. The proof of what truly made him male.

"You are so beautiful," Blaine muttered, feeling his sex weeping the truth of his words. As if they were tears that would fall from his eyes at what he saw before him.

Adam dropped again, this time taking him into his wet mouth. Blaine gasped at the suddenness of it, the all enveloping pleasure that came with the taking. The hispanic possessing him so strongly, so orally. So fully as the wet warmth sunk deeper on his erection. Adams hands playing loosely up his back again. Blaine let out a gasp, pulling more at his bonds for the ferocity of sensation that overwhelmed his being. Adams cornrowed head began to move slowly beneath him, the wet sounds of sucking mixing in song with the chorus of his groans.

Blaine stared wide eyed as Adam began to work his cock slowly and smoothly. Realizing sharply were it was that he always ran to. Whenever the going got truly hard. Whenever he was at his most lonely. He always ran to the same place. To the one that he knew would care, that would be there. That would accept him back. Blaine moaned in utter thanks as his body seared with the strength of his pleasures. Praying thanks to the angel that showed him the heavens of his body. The soft, comforting reassurance of his embrace.

Things didnt seem to hurt as much. Things seemed better.

Blaine wished for an eternity of that feeling. Of the feeling that sunk deep down again on his engorged member.

Adams mouth wandered up his body, his wet cock slapping free of the hispanics mouth. That lithe brown form worked up his own, locking about Blaine with a want and need that he felt himself. Adams weight was suddenly and heavily on his shoulders, his legs tightening about his broad hips as he bared the hispanics weight on his legs alone. Blaine wanted his hands to hold Adam, make this more easy for the both of them. He wanted to work the thrusts that he knew Adam was craving, taking in Blaine's captive and chained state.

Adams muscles were sweaty and hot against his own as the hispanic shifted up. Attempted to sit back down. He saw Adams eyes, drunk and locked on his own. Blaine tugged again at the cuffs, as if he tried and will strongly enough, his hands could come down to Adams firm brown ass. Clasp it in his palms, and help lower the hispanics puckering, dry hole to his head. The leather of his gloves continued to creak as he gripped his hands about the pipe there, moaning deeply.

Adams muscular body felt like rock about him as he wrapped himself about him, working with a powerful athletism. Shifting far too easily into the curves of Blaine's larger, less muscular size. Mingling brown with dark brown, sweat with sweat. The thick, heady aromas of their sex and growing arousal within the small room. The more sweaty heat that passed between them. Blaine bore Adams weight with a growing difficulty, but with an energy born of his lust. Pure and unquestioned in the heat of the act.

Blaine felt Adams hand on his cock, angling it, sitting suddenly back on it. The weight of the hispanics body lanced his spit slicked cockhead straight through the unpenetrated muscle. Adams eyes widened, a stifled cry escaping his lips. Blaine wanted to put his arms about him. Embrace him as his body was embracing him, as Adams ass was embracing him sexually. The tightness crushed his uncut cockhead, his foreskin drawn back at the unlubed entry. Painful in part, but a pain that only increased the erotism of it.

Blaine panted heavily. Nothing compared to this. Even with all the girls he'd been with, the very few guys, a long time ago in his passed. Nothing compared to the feeling of Adams body on his. His ass tight about his member. Blaine imagined in the heat of passion what it would be like to have Adam as often as he had the bitches he fucked. Even more often, daily. The thought made him wet, the tightness that began to descend on his shaft drawing the precum from his head.

Adam cried out in pain, a pain that Blaine gritted his teeth against in a pent growl. Adams tight ass hurt him as it swallowed his cock, too tight. Too dry. Too fast. Sweat and spit far too little to aide the crushing passage of his sex into the hispanic. Their hormones a salve to the pain, their lust providing the willpower to push on. Adams weight more than easily splitting Blaine's black cock deep into his ass hole. The muscular hispanic soon panting heavily, all but weeping against his shoulder as he held tightly about him.

Blaine was lost for real words, his language colored instead with a new vocabulary. Grunts, moans, tight gasps as Adams body mated deep about his. Smooth, unspeakably muscular limbs wrapped about him. The strength he felt in them made Blaine feel strong. Powerful, though chained. The whole situation seemed to arouse Blaine more than he expected.

Chained with the cuffs of the pigs that had beat him.

Helpless to move.

Trapped, but trapped by flesh.

Blaine's cock hurt painfully at the tightness in Adams ass. hadn't he gotten it since they last fucked? The tightness only coaxed him quicker towards his peak, reminding him of some tight, young virgin cunt. Gripping almost in death grip at his cock, each stroke giving a life to them both, born on pleasure. Birth cries replaced by their moans, as Adam began to deepen his stroke. Their bodies seared by the heat of their passion, starting to drip with the proof of their love.

"Estoy caliente," Adam muttered, his face broken in the pain of taking Blaine so quick, so soon.

"Si."

Blaine only understood a little of what Adam more commonly moaned in the throes of their sex. The meaning was usually rooted deep in what they shared, making easy translation on their positions, their wants. Blaine so badly wanted to feel that tight muscle that writhed under Adams smooth brown skin as he worked, yet enjoyed in a strange lust the continued feeling of his bonds.

Adams muscles were beginning to drip with their sweat. It made them both wet, the scant light sheening off the curves of their bodies. The effort of holding himself about Blaine only made Adams muscular form harder. Made those muscles pump and strain with the continued pace of their lovemaking. Blaine groans deepened as he stared at what he could, feeling the rest rubbing rock hard against his body. Feeling Adams hardness pressed against his stomach, stroking with the same urgent pace as their sex.

Adams breath grew more ragged against his ear, his embrace tightening with each stroke. Blaine bore the weight of him, more hanging at the pipe he was chained to, hoping that it wouldn't break under their combined weights. There was still the pain of the evening, lingering, despite the pleasure of their passions, of the still steady fucking Adam was striving against his cock. His ribs still ached, especially with the tightness of Adams embraced limbs. His legs began to hurt more with the effort of holding Adams muscular, thrusting body. The sweat still made them slick, the smell of their sex strong in Blaine's nose.

Blaine knew he wanted this. He wanted this every morning. Every night.

The sensation that burned in his hard black cock. The feeling of Adams solid muscles against his body. Blaine knew in the height of his passion what he truly wanted.

To stay.

Not to run.

Adam had proved his point.

Blaine's moans increased into almost pained gasps as he felt his climax mounting within him. His nuts tightened beneath him, the tightness of his fists on the pipe above making his gloves creak vengefully. Adams pained, pleasured and drunk face lingered before him, those muscles rubbing against him, slickened with sweat, as he continued to thrust onto him. Making the dark room thick with the sounds and smells of their lovemaking. The blacks cries growing with each muscular thrust. His hips trapped in a situation where they felt the natural crave of control, the roles so vastly reversed as Adam fucked himself on his dick.

"Fuck!" Blaine cried out, peaking on the edge. "Oh fuck! Adam!"

"Si! Mi papi cholo!"

"Holy FUCK!"

Blaine all but hollered out as his cock finally gave, spewing his thick cum deep within Adams tight ass. He heard Adam gasp out at the sensation, Blaine's chest feeling raw, ragged. Like he had when he was running through the alleys, his breath hot, hard. Yet ragged for reasons far different. Born of an intense want of closeness and intimacy, rather than the desperate flee of running. Blaine body ran in sweat, his cock eventually slowing as he seeded Adam deep within. The act more taking on the hispanics part, than receiving.

"You know what I like," Blaine muttered quietly, his breathing still too heavy to make his words more effective than what they came as.

"Si."

The black moaned deeply as Adam began to work himself slowly off his stiff rigid cock. The passage seeming to milk the last drips of his cum from his length. Teasing out the thick drips of his lust as Adam pulled himself up off Blaine's body in a muscular motion. Adam dropped back to his feet, panting almost as deeply. Smooth, graceful muscles running as prolifically with the sweat of their sex, lending the room a deep scent of their maleness. Proof of their arousal.

Blaine hung there silently, trying to pull sway over his breathing. Feeling the heat between them, within the dark basement make his head light. He felt the slow fingers of moisture running down his dark skin. A lasting caress in the absence of Adams. One that soon returned as the hispanic rejoined against him. Blaine felt the hardness of his cock still, pressing against his stomach. Felt Adams hands on body again. A welcomed presence, even in the wake of his climax. Even with its passing, he felt the want to be close.

"Fuck me, man," Blaine said quietly. Adams head was still low, his cornrowed head layed lightly against his arms where they were bound.

"Is that what you want?"

"Its what I want," replied Blaine. "I want it from you."

"I thought you said you never took it from anyone else."

Blaine frowned a little at the darkness in Adams voice, wondered why it was even still there. The hispanics tone was still quiet. Blaine replied as quietly, "I've barely done sex with another guy, man, you know that."

"I know."

"I aint never taken it up the ass from anyone else," he reiterated. "I want you fuck me."

Adams hands lingered on his chest. The aching in his ribs were still there, ablated lightly by the fact that Adams muscular legs were no longer wrapped tightly about his body. Adams touch still thrilled him in a strangely exciting way, that was only increased by the tightness of the cuffs. The fact that he was still held captive. The thought that he was there for Adams every wim excited him too.

"Fuck me, man. don't make me beg. You already got me."

"Yeah," Adam replied in an almost whisper. His hands stroked lightly at Blaine's body, before he went down again in front of the black. "I know I do."

Blaine hung there more than anything, mostly lacking the strength to hold himself on his own power. Still thanking that the pipe he was chained to was still continuing to hold him. The blacks head hung again, expectant, as Adam pulled at his boots. Dragged his oversized jeans off his legs and feet. Standing again with that perfect physique, to round his sweaty and spent body. Blaine didnt know if it was his mood, or his want to please Adam. If it was mood, it had found him only rarely. He'd only ever given it up to Adam a few times before.

"Nah," Blaine muttered, as he heard the spit, felt the moist pushing against his ass. "Just get your dick wet. I wanna take you dry like you took me."

"Si, papi."

Blaine felt the electric thrill as it ran thought his exhausted body. The excitement that came with the scant preparation. He felt Adam embrace him from behind with one of those muscular arms, his knees kicking apart his legs as he stood up to the task of fucking him. Blaine felt a base, primal thrill. Like he had no choice. Cuffed there, sweating, tired. Unable to, even if he wanted, to fight Adams advance. Thrilling at the mere fantasy, waiting only long enough to suggest it rather than wait for the reward of its possible eventuality. Only further encouraging that the taking be as brutal as the situation may have appeared to someone looking from the outside.

Blaine liked the sensation of capture that he felt. The thrill that the rabbit was about to take his predators hard cock. Trapped and unwilling.

Adams cut cockhead pressed roughly between his cheeks, lacking any pretense or politeness. Blaine grunted as the sinuous hispanic fell into the curves of his back, surrounded his body with his brown strength. He felt the sudden pain as Adams hardness insisted against his puckering ass hole, Blaine's eyes widening in confusion at the pace and pain of it. Fantasy doused by reality as Adam shoved by part, splitting the tight, all but virginal ring of his ass.

Blaine didnt protest. It felt good, but beyond the pleasure of it and its sexual nature. He felt a strange anger in Adams stroke, then again as the hispanic grunted, forced himself deeper. The sex felt more like punishment. Payback. Adam truly had him where he wanted, and intended to get back every time he walked out. Every time he ran. Blaine gritted against the pain of Adams deep penetration, recognizing the pain he had seen in Adams face when he had entered him. Knowing the pleasure that he knew would followed, proof from the same source.

Blaine deserved the pain. Lusted more after the pleasure.

Adams sinuous brown arms wrapped tighter about his body as the hispanic continued to assault deeper within his core. Blaine felt split, violated deeply, in a powerfully sexual gratification. Pretense to preference lost in the face of what he felt. The hispanics erotic torture driving him closer to truths made reality. Pleasure born deep in pain, pain giving to pleasures unfelt. Blaine felt the moans escape his lips, drawn from his throat by the hard thrusts within. Thrusts that ended almost too suddenly with Adams pubes scratching at his ass.

"Ah Adam ... fuck ... fuck me, man ... don't hold back ... please ... Im here. Im yours."

"I know."

Blaine was sure that somewhere inside him he had broken. The tight grip of his ass ring seeming to give too easily on lubricant that he was sure wasn't provided. Perhaps sweat, or his own blood. Adams cock drawing back in an eternity of a stroke. A stroke that seemed to take his whole being back with it. Blaine all but hung within Adams strong embrace, dizzy from the sensation. The sweat. The heat. The dull, throbbing pain within his penetrated core. The unrivalled pleasure that came with Adams stroke.

Trapped there, cuffed tightly. Within Adams muscular arms. No where else but here alone with Adam. Never to leave, like the presence that felt too large to exist within his ass.

Adams strokes began to grow with the strength of Blaine's groans. Adams hot skin pressed against his, the passage of his chest and arms about his body, along his back. The fact his cock thrust deep within him truly the only thing that still kept him aloft. Despite his hands, still fisted about the pipe in a leathered grip. Despite his legs, all but shaking under his exhausted weight. Blaine drew the strength to thrust back against that which held him up. Took strength from the fire that began to burn within his tightest muscle. Moaning softly as Adam took all that he wanted, hearing the hispanics replies in the same impassioned moans.

'Im stuck here. I like it.'

Blaine's mind swum with the heat of the room, that of their lovemaking. Feeling that hard, sweat and blood slicked organ thrusting within him. Pistoning against him in an act that made him part of a well oiled machine of flesh. Fueled by lust as Adams cock continued to work with hard rhythm through his ass ring. The muscles of the hispanics body writhing against his own, as the pleasure of their act rained down upon him with the same ferocity as their sweat. Blaine felt lost. Aroused intensely as his own cock bowed under the weight of his lust. His nuts swinging with each muscular thrust.

He felt lost even to the last stroke. Lost and uncaring. Realizing with each stroke that he ran here. Where he had the choice of anywhere, he had run here. Back to this. Back to Adam.

The hot flood drew Blaine back to the reality at hand, the sensations of Adams cock throbbing tight within his anal embrace. His weight hung at his aching arms, the hard and brutal fucking drawing what little energy he had left from him. Returning it with the wetness of the hispanics seed. The final, long withdraw as Adam pulled his softening cock from his ass.

"Im here for you ..."

Blaine barely found the strength to mutter the words as he felt Adam move out from the curves of his body. Felt his arms groan in protest as he found himself relying on his own strength, what little there was, to hold himself up. No longer finding Adams ample, muscular strength supporting him. Feeling the last, lingering touch of Adams fingers on his back. Down about his thick ass. Blaine whimpered quietly at how weak he felt. How tired he was within the heat of the basement, and that of their sex. Sweat still ran its jagged little fingertips down his body, still there as Adams left.

"I wish that was you talking," came the almost silent reply. Blaine's ears rushed with the relative silence. Where seconds before there had been nothing but the storm of the passions. The deep winds of their moans.

"It is, man," Blaine replied, still panting. Still hurting. He didnt know if it was the night, the exhaustion or the sex.

"No."

Blaine's brow furrowed in confusion as he saw Adams beautiful form move about the front of him. Dipping lightly again, his body a symphony of strength and grace. The smoothness and passage of his form seemed more than human, far more heavenly. Blaine's frown deepened as he saw Adams face, missing the hard and severe expression. Seeing only on of tired resignation. Angelic sorrow as the hispanic pulled his boxers back up. Stood before him, regarding him with those dark eyes.

"Its not you talking, Blaine," Adam said, still quiet. "Its the same thing that talks every time I hear you say that."

"What you mean?" Blaine had little choice but to just hang there, smelling of sex. Confusion, rather than fulfillment saturating his brain.

"Every time you promise to stay, its your hormones, Blaine," he replied. Adams eyes seemed tired. "I just wanted to here you say it one last time. So I could pretend that you meant it this time."

"What? Fuck that! I mean it!"

"No you don't," replied Adam, calmly. "You meant it last time, Blaine."

"That was different, man," Blaine struggled for the words, unable to struggle physically where he may have otherwise. "THIS is different. Ill stay, because you want me to."

"Its not what you want. Its not what you feeling," Adam turned towards the door, Blaine pulling at his cuffs as he realized what he meant to do. "You'd say anything when your horny. It sort of felt good hearing you say it, anyway."

"You cant just leave me here," Blaine complained suddenly, realizing almost instantly how stupid that sounded.

"Im not leaving you anywhere, Blaine. You got my help. All of it," Adam paused at the door, all smooth, muscular skin in those silk boxers. "Offer still stands. But I think we both know what you want to do in your heart."

"You want me back or not?"

"What do you want?" asked Adam. "Work that out and get some sleep."

Blaine couldnt believe how trapped he felt. Mere steel kept him from moving. Mere flesh, where he hung, exhausted from the sex and the nights pains. He wanted to somehow just step forward, run after Adam. Try and say whatever words were needed to make this all right. Nothing he said seemed to work. It was like Adam could see straight inside him. Staring him straight in his eyes, as if his eyes betrayed everything within him. Knowing that with all the words he said to try and make it different, try and make him believe, that Adam still knew the truth. The one truth that had always been true.

Blaine would run.

"I want to come back to you," Blaine muttered. "I want you to be here."

"If you leave this time, you know I wont be here when you come back."

"Please, Adam ... don't do this."

"No, Blaine," Adam replied quietly. "don't you do it."

Blaine sagged in his cuffs, his mind still spinning. His breath hot and heavy as he stared across the dark room at Adams all but naked form.

So beautiful. So comforting.

"Goodbye Blaine."

The sound of the door closing seemed to shock Blaine into a whole new world. One beyond that which he hung within. The exhaustion set in, dragging down on his already tired arms. He felt like he was hiding there again, high up on those cold metal fire escapes. Exposed to the world that he sought to run from. All that he felt within his body was the wetness of the rain. The still throbbing aches of the beat down he had endured. The pain of his flight. The fear of facing the cold world that was Bradfords realities, at the gunpoint of its gangs. It was a world he was stuck in again. One that he had tried to run from.

One that he was sure he could find solstice here.

Blaine drew slow breaths as he adjusted to the sensations again. The harder reality that bound him tight about the wrists. He felt the anger again, at himself. At the world. At everything that made him run. Even at Adam. Despite the images of the hispanics beauty, one that he knew himself drawn to. He kept seeing Adams last long looks. The sorrow in his eyes. The blunt knowledge of what Blaine already knew he would do.

Adam was always right. Perhaps its why he always came back. Adam knew all along, even if perhaps he hadn't. Lost in the passion of their lovemaking. The mere comfort of his presence.

Blaine felt the anger harden him again. Steeling his already burning legs, still hurting with the pain of having hung there so long. The situation only making those old wounds within him, within his body start to hurt all over again. He felt angry and disillusioned afresh. His face frowning at the realization that he knew Adam was right. He wished for just the fleeting moment that the world was right enough that he wouldn't, but knew the solution all along.

Working his gloved fingers very carefully, Blaine tugged at his right cuff. Having felt its presence there, always feeling its presence. Fingers dulled by the leathery bulk of his gloves, by the exhaustion that drained his body. Breathing slowly, Blaine concentrated on the here and now. The task that he set his mind to. Hoping with everything that he didnt screw this up. Chances were that Adam knew he would be able to get himself out of this situation as easily as he had known already what he would do if given the choice of staying or going.

Blaine felt the metal at his tips, tugged it. Grasped it. Working as quickly as if he were still laying in the back seat of the patrol car. The black felt the cuffs simple lock give to his skill. Like it always had. His reward the click and loosening about his wrist.

Blaine all but dropped like a rock, barely hearing the clattering of the handcuffs as he fell from the pipes imprisonment. The concrete floor struck him almost as hard as the cops baton had hours before. He felt the pain of its presence.

He didnt even want to rest. Even though he knew he'd be fine here, uninterrupted for as long as he needed to sleep, Blaine didnt want to be here. He wanted to be anywhere else. Back in the arms of the ghetto that bred him. Back in those arms that he felt already reaching out to him in the absence of Adams. Smooth, warm muscle replaced with the hard presence of concrete.

Blaine pushed himself up from the floor, his face bitter. He set about making himself less naked, as the sweat of their sex still mingled with the heat of the room. The thick scent of their maleness that permeated the small basement shelter. The black pulled his boxers back on, his arms barely working with the paralysis of their inactivity. Blaine found the long minutes that it took for them return to normal. The otherwise easy task of dressing lengthened into what felt like an eternity.

Blaine picked the remaining cuff, as easy has he had picked the first. Slipping the metal of his lockpick back into his glove. The cuffs lay cold and metal against the dark concrete there, as he slipped into the heavy leathered embrace of his jacket. Nothing could hold him. Not the pigs that had trapped him. Not the cuffs. Not this room.

Not even Adam?

Blaine stepped over to the door, barely bothering to check to see if it was unlocked. Kicking out furiously, enraged at its handle. The door shuddered under the blow. Then again, wood splintering. The subsequent thuds pounding against the wood of the door in lessening strength. As if mocking Blaine's already sapped energies. Blaine pulled at the door handle, the door far from giving into his blunt violence.

The cooler air of night washed across his face, almost like a relief. Blaine stepped back out into the rain, closing the door behind him. He didnt even think of Adam, with the presence of that cool embrace. The slow stroke of the rain against his skin. The smell of maleness replaced with that of distant smog and moist mist, the thick scents of the city. The ghetto greeted him with that same constant rumble, a comfort almost as inherent as the sound of a mothers heartbeat within the womb.

Blaine began to limp lightly away from the door, into the alley that glistened with the tears of night. His mind set on what he had been born knowing what to do. What he would always do, until he no longer had the ability to do so. Despite the pain he felt within every part of his body, the tiredness, he did what he always did.

Blaine began to run.