Dancing in the Shadows

-Original Fiction-

Bring me Home (working title)

by Shuuki

“Get away from me! Get away!” the boy shrieked piteously. He flailed his arms, desperately trying to free his wrists from the crushing grip that tried to pin them down. “No! NO!” High-pitched screams filled the small room. A crown of blond curls lashed his face as he tossed his head from side to side.

“Justin, shut up! It’s me! Justin!” The commands of the lanky boy atop him did nothing to cut through his panic as he continued to thrash beneath him.

“NO!” Justin practically sobbed. “You’re dead! You’re dead...” His voice cracked, trailing into earnest weeping. His small frame shook with fever, spreading the dampness of his body to the sheets.

He had been like this for an hour; it was all Rick could do to keep him from clawing his own skin off. The larger boy’s own forearms were already scratched raw from Justin’s endless fit. But that felt right somehow, almost as right as the bullet wound in his arm, almost as right as the wound that still ached in his chest. It was his fault after all. Rick leaned into his hysterical lover, closing the distance, locking frantic hands together between them.

Justin immediately latched on to Rick’s neck, short nails digging into the offending flesh. His sorrowful voice whipped back up into a harrowed cry. “Noooo!”

Rick hovered against him with perfect stillness, letting the boy have his way with him, squeezing his eyes shut against the screams and the memory of the last month.

The dance floor surged with the heated bodies of the city’s youth. The air was humid with the smell of sex and ecstasy, the scent quivering on the incessant throb of the baseline. It was all completely uninteresting to the tall boy slung up against the bar. He shifted with a sigh, the black leather of his pants creaking lightly. How that blonde minx had ever convinced him to set foot in a place like this eluded him. He watched that very minx slink, dip, and sway on the dance floor and almost smirked. Maybe he did know after all. Every movement was like a plea for Rick to join him. The older boy puffed languidly on a cigarette as if he didn’t notice, taking his time to punish the one who had dragged him here.

Rick turned his back to the seething mass behind him, mashing out his smoke in an ashtray. He snarled to himself; the noise was beginning to drill into him. It was late and the bar had quickly become crowded. The teen felt his ire rising along with his temperature as elbows started to brush him. The steely expression on his face did nothing to deter a voluptuous young thing from sidling right up to flirt with him. She yelled something over the baseline and flashed a tablet at him with a questioning bat of her eyelashes. Rick turned to give her a withering look, which also seemed to have little effect. She lifted the white tab to his lips, brushing them lightly with long red fingernails. Shock and pain flashed across her features as he caught her wrist, slamming it to the bar and pushing himself off and away from her and the crowd.

Rick strode across the dance floor toward the back door, shoving anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path. He let the door slam behind him as he stepped into the night air, rummaging in his pocket for his cigarettes. He leaned against the wall, gazing up between the shadows of the buildings, dragging deeply. He didn’t flinch as two men burst through the doorway, marching straight toward him.

Rick had a knife to the taller assailant’s throat even as the man grabbed his collar. The dark boy grinned into the man's face, exhaling a stream of smoke into his eyes. The man was coughing and gripping his neck in the next moment, and as he fell to the pavement, the image of a gun appeared from behind him. The shaky hands of his shorter companion pulled the trigger and Rick dodged, rolling himself across the asphalt. Someone was screaming as Rick lunged toward the armed man and grabbed the barrel of the weapon, sending an elbow flying into the attacker’s face. But it wasn't the attacker who was yelling. As the pair tumbled to the ground, wide blue eyes Rick had come to know so well appeared through the door. There was a shot; it came from where Justin stood. "No, from behind," Rick thought as the bullet connected with his shoulder. He rolled with the armed assailant, grunting as he landed square on the wound, blood spraying from his mouth as he felt a second shot rip through his chest, close to the wounded shoulder. Rick's vice-like grip on the gun barrel never loosened; he tore the weapon from the man's hand, belting him across the nose. The dark-haired boy lay panting, the weight of the now unconscious man heavy on his chest, darkness heavy in his vision. He could hear his name. A sweet, terrified voice called to him over and over and he smiled as it faded into nothing.

One month ago. Could it have been so long?

Rick could feel blood flowing freely down his neck now. Justin's voice had quieted to occasional hoarse cries, still clawing lamely up at him.

Rick never found out who had called the ambulance, but his stay in the hospital was brief, escaping the next night to begin his hunt for Justin. He'd found him like this: drugged out of his mind, battered and broken in some dirty apartment downtown. There was little satisfaction even in the massacre Rick had inflicted on Justin's captors - two bit wasteoids with a sick taste for fun. They'd touched his Justin, this pathetic, innocent puppy that had followed him home one night, who had wormed his way somehow into Rick's excuse for a heart.

Rick ignored Justin's renewed screams as he stroked those golden curls.

How could he have let this naive suburban brat follow him? It was enough to coax even him to tears. He bit them back as he held Justin to him. The boy struggled against the larger body, squirming and kicking for release, gasping for air as he hyperventilated. Rick's brows knotted and he jerked up, slamming Justin's hands down on either side of his head and capturing his chapped lips in a bruising kiss. Justin's screams were muffled into Rick's mouth and he bit frantically at the older boy's lips. Rick's tongue darted from between his split lips and spread the flow of blood into the boy's mouth, forcing their tongues to dance together. After a heated moment, Rick released Justin's mouth and dipped to his ear. "Remember that taste Justin? He slid a hand though blonde spirals and cradled the back of his head. He guided Justin's face up to his bleeding neck. "Go on. Taste it. Smell it."

The tiring youth shut his eyes against the crimson flow, uttering a woeful moan. But Rick held his nose close to the ragged flesh, forcing him to breathe in the scent. "Go on," Rick crooned. A pink tongue emerged tentatively between the boy's swollen lips. He lapped once, twice as Rick urged, the flavor spreading over his taste buds.

to be continued...