Shane was cold. Turning his head toward the streetlight, he saw the plume of his own breath rise in front of his face. He tried to keep from shivering, lowering his head again and wrapping his arms around himself. The thin, sheer black shirt he was wearing did nothing to protect him from the frigid air, and the tight leather pants felt stiff and frozen to his legs.

"Come on. Hurry the fuck up."

A sharp tug on the leash connected to his collar followed the command, and Shane hurried to fall in behind his master. Staring at the back of the bigger man's long, thick wool jacket, Shane forced himself to swallow his anger. He had plenty of coats at home, and they'd both known how cold it was going to be, but his master had refused to let him wear one.

Circling around the dingy, seemingly vacant warehouse they had parked in front of, his master lead the way down a narrow alley. Shane followed without comment, unconsciously moving closer to him. As the darkness closed around them, he found himself shivering from something other than the cold. He didn't know where they were going, but he couldn't imagine that this dark and smelly passageway led anywhere good.

A voice called out of the darkness suddenly, startling both of them.

"You lost, gentlemen?"

In the dim light of the moon and the distant streetlights, Shane could see that they'd come to what looked like a loading bay. On the platform above them a tall, muscular black man stood looking down. He was no more than a shadow in the night, his shining eyes almost the only things visible.

As if undisturbed by his abrupt appearance, Shane's master snorted in contempt. "Do we look lost?" he demanded. "Here for the party."

"What party is that?"

Shane watched as his master dug into a pocket and came up with a small white business card. He held it up, and the man on the platform took it. To Shane, it almost looked as if the card was floating in his hands. The illusion was intensified when a hand-held black light snapped on over the card, making it glow.

After a moment, the light disappeared again into the black man's jacket, along with the card. He turned and said something into the inky blackness behind him, and an overhead lamp at the rear of the bay came to life. Shane blinked in the sudden brightness, ducking his head.

"Do you have your donation, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Sure do," his master said, producing two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet.

The man accepted the money and looked at him again. "And the rest?"

Shane bit back a yelp of fear as he felt himself jerked forward. His master's hand closed around his jaw and turned his face upward.

"A real pretty one, here. Bet you don't see many like this, do ya?"

Shaking, Shane looked up into the face of the black man. There was no emotion to be found, just a cool observation.

"How old is he?"

"What fucking difference does it make?"

"No minors. How old is he?"

Bradshaw snarled, his grip on Shane's face tightening painfully. "He's twenty-one, all right?"

Twenty-four, a foolish voice in Shane's voice corrected, but he remained silent. He wasn't surprised that his master didn't know how old he was. There was a lot about him that his master didn't know, and he didn't care to learn. All that mattered to him was that Shane was quiet, obedient, pretty, and knew what to do with his mouth when ordered to put it to use.

The man on the platform nodded and gestured for them to come up a small set of steps a few feet away. "He looks about sixteen."

"No shit. I never noticed." Bradshaw snarled, half dragging Shane up the steps by the collar. "Next you'll be asking for his God damn driver's license."

"That won't be necessary, sir." The man showed them back to a heavy sliding door and pulled it open.

"Damn right it won't be." Shane's master snapped as they moved past him.

"Enjoy your evening."

Inside, Shane found himself wondering if the man had any idea how impossible that was going to be. He might have been glad for the wave of warm air that greeted them if not for the loud, thumping music that came with it. The room was dimly lit with a handful of lamps, and a large Persian rug had been spread over the concrete of the floor, but otherwise it looked exactly as Shane would expect the inside of a loading dock to look.

His master's hand touched the back of Shane's head then, and he ducked it quickly. When the larger man drew him close, the urge to pull away was strong, but he couldn't.

"Alright now, you listen to me." Bradshaw said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music. "We ain't just here to play tonight. I'm meeting some important people, and you damn well better behave yourself. You remember your place and do EXACTLY as you're told. Do I make myself clear?"

Shane nodded quickly. His master's hand closed around his chin and lifted it to kiss him roughly. Forcing himself to remain passive and pliable, Shane felt his chest tighten.

There had been a time when the bigger man's kisses had excited him. When they'd first met, first become lovers, Shane had been thrilled to have someone so strong and assertive. Someone to take care of him. Although Bradshaw certainly did that, any tenderness he might have felt for Shane seemed to have faded a long time ago. Shane knew that he was just a possession now, something to be used and shown off. As much as he hated it, hated living with the constant shame and fear, he knew that he couldn't just leave. He couldn't be alone.

His master released him then and Shane bowed his head again, folding his hands behind his back. He was only dimly aware of Bradshaw slipping out of his jacket and handing it off to a door attendant. They spoke to each other and Bradshaw laughed loudly, but Shane didn't hear their words. He felt his leash taken up again and followed as his master led him further into the building.

Passing through a short corridor, they came into a cavernous room filled with the scents of smoke and alcohol and sweat. Shane winced at the increased volume of the music and risked a peek around. A large, crowded dance floor dominated one half of the room, and a bar ran along the side opposite where they stood. The remaining space was filled with small tables and clusters of couches and chairs. There were small lamps at each table, but the only other light came from the colorful flashing strobes of the dance floor. It made Shane dizzy.

As he ducked his head again, he caught sight of two people at a table near them. A man and a woman, deep in a kiss. The woman voluptuous, her breasts threatening to spill loose from the tiny leather dress she wore. Her red-tipped hair fell back over one shoulder, revealing a thick, studded collar. Shane could see almost nothing of the man but the dark, curling hair that fell around his face. Suddenly, he was rising, catching the woman by the hair and pulling her to her feet as well. She did not struggle, but allowed him to bend her over until her face touched the table top. The man deftly undid his belt with his free hand and pulled it loose. Seeing him push up the woman's skirt to reveal her bare ass, Shane's caught his breath. He looked away quickly, but not in time to avoid seeing the belt swing back. For a brief moment, he was grateful for the loud music to drown out the woman's cry.

Bradshaw started toward the bar, and Shane stayed close behind, trying to keep the leash between them as loose as possible and avoid bumping into anyone while walking with his head down. Despite his nearness to a very large man who was obviously his master, he felt the touch of a number of sly hands as they made their way across the room, patting his ass, sliding across his flat stomach, even brushing over his crotch. One man, his bald head gleaming in the colorful lights, was bold enough to quickly slip a hand under his shirt and pinch at his nipple. Shane twisted away from the touch, swatting the hand that continued to reach for him, and stumbled into his master. Bradshaw took one look at the fearful, shocked look on his face and frowned. Catching Shane by the shoulder, he slapped him.

"What did I just tell you?" he snarled. "I told you to behave, didn't I?"

Shane simply nodded, knowing better than to raise a hand to his throbbing cheek.

"Get back over there and apologize to that man."

For just a moment, Shane glanced up at Bradshaw's face. He wasn't sure what his master was asking him to do.

Then he found himself thrown to his hands and knees, dragged by the hair back to where the man who had touched him was sitting, smiling at the scene he had caused. Bradshaw pressed his face to the top of one of the man's boots.

"Apologize," he growled.

Choking back a sob, Shane pressed a kiss to the cool leather of the boot.

"No, I don't think that's quite going to do it." His master's grip on his hair tightened. "You better show him how sorry you are…"

Shane didn't wait to find out how that sentence was going to end. He began licking, starting at the toe and working his way up, careful not to miss an inch. When the entire boot was shining, his master pulled him away to inspect his work.

"Not too bad," he said with a grin. "But we wouldn't want to only do half the job, would we?"

Grinning with him, the man shifted so that his other boot was in front of Shane's face, and he started over again.

There were worse things than kneeling on the floor in front of dozens of people and licking some stranger's boot, Shane told himself. He just couldn't think of any at the moment. It gave him a chance to calm down, though, and by the time he finished the second boot, he had managed to stop crying. That was a good thing, because his master got angry when he cried.

"Good, good. He's good with his tongue, isn't he?" Bradshaw asked the man, hauling Shane back to his feet.

"Sure is." The man's eyes were bright with both amusement and desire. Shane kept his head down, refusing to meet them.

"So? What do you say?"

"I'm sorry," Shane whispered.

"Forgiven," the man answered.

"There you go." Bradshaw gave him a hard slap on the ass and started toward the bar once more.

Shane followed him, mildly relieved. If his master had insisted he do something more to demonstrate his remorse, he wouldn't have had any choice. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd ordered Shane to please someone other than himself. The first time, Shane had refused, and he had a small scar high up on the inside of his thigh to remind him never to do it again.

At the bar, Bradshaw ordered a bottle of tequila. Standing beside him, Shane hid his grimace. Tequila and his master were a dangerous combination.

Someone brushed up against him from the other side. Shane stiffened but didn't move. He'd learned his lesson for the evening.

"Sorry," A deep voice murmured, and the body moved away.

Something in that voice caught Shane's attention. He heard it again a moment later, still next to him, ordering a beer. Shane wanted to look up, to match a face with the voice, but he didn't.

Then he felt his master's arm slide around his waist, bringing him close.

"Here you go, boy. Drink up."

Lifting his eyes slightly, Shane found Bradshaw holding a shot glass in front of his face.

"Gotta wash the taste of boot leather out of your mouth, don't we?"

Shane said nothing, keeping his face passive. Before he'd met Bradshaw, he hadn't been much of a drinker. It amused the big man to watch him get drunk. Taking the shot, he tossed as much of it back as he could. The liquor burned its way down his throat and he grimaced as the taste.

"Come on, now. Finish it off."

Shane did as he was told, finding it harder to take that second drink than the first. His master laughed and patted him roughly on the back as he coughed on the fumes.

"That's a good boy." Bradshaw said, lifting the bottle to refill the glass still in Shane's hand. "For that, you deserve another."

They played this game until Shane had consumed six shots in rapid succession. He was already feeling light-headed and vaguely sick by the time his master got bored and finally turned away to fill his own glass. Closing his eyes, Shane leaned on the bar for support and took a deep breath. The ground tilted, but a strong hand closed around his elbow, keeping him upright.

When he opened his eyes, Shane was staring into the face of the man sitting next to him. He was dark. Short black hair. Impossibly dark brown eyes. Black leather jacket over a tight black t-shirt. Even his expression was dark, intense. He said nothing, merely kept his hand on Shane's elbow until he'd regained his balance, then released him.

Shane almost thanked him. It was right on the tip of his tongue. Then he remembered where he was and quickly looked away.

They stayed at the bar for several more minutes, and Shane spent the entire time keenly aware of the man beside him. He could almost feel the heat of him, the weight of his gaze on his back. It made him shiver again, only not from the cold this time.

He was almost relieved when Bradshaw said, "Hell, there they are."

Tossing back the last of his drink, his master thrust the tequila bottle into Shane's hands and turned away from the bar. Shane turned to follow, resisting the urge for one more glance behind him. Somehow, he knew the dark man was watching him go.

~

Sometime later, Shane awoke with the tastes of tequila, semen, and blood in his mouth. He knew where the tequila had come from, but he didn't want to think about the rest. Cautiously opening his eyes, he stared at the carpet beneath him and tried to remember where he was.

The men that his master had come here to meet had arranged for a private room. It was little more than a converted office, with the desks pushed off to one side of the reception space. The interior office had been emptied except for a low, wide bed. Shane recalled how his stomach had lurched when he saw that bed.

There had been two boys with the other men, one blonde and one brunette. Shannon and Gui, those were their names. Shane had wondered how either of them had gotten past the doorman. Shannon couldn't have been a day over seventeen, if that, and Gui was even younger, with a pretty, heart shaped-face and dark hair that fell in his eyes. They had both been either drunk or high or both, falling all over each other in endless giggles. Gui hadn't even spoken English, but that didn't stop Shannon from laughing at everything he said. One of the men had spoken to him in Spanish, but it hadn't looked to Shane like that man was actually his master. No, Gui had come to this place with Hunter.

Shane shuddered, unconsciously curling into a ball. Hunter. From the moment that Bradshaw had introduced him, the big man had not taken his eyes off Shane once. Not even with Gui in his lap, with one of the other men, a blonde named Shawn, sucking at his neck.

Shane was suddenly glad that he didn't remember. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head carefully. He was lying on the floor in the outer room, next to one of the couches. He was naked, which wasn't a surprise, but he was alone, which was. The room was a mess, bottles everywhere, the cushions pulled off the couch. Only one lamp remained unbroken, and its light was just enough for Shane to see that there was no one else in the room. Head spinning sickly, confused, he pulled himself up into a sitting position.

He vaguely remembered an argument breaking out. Kevin, the very tall man with ash blonde hair, had been snapping at Hunter all night, something about the boy named Gui, and finally Hunter had snapped back. They had almost come to blows, separated by the other men. Then Kevin had swung a nearly passed-out Shannon into his arms and left. The man who'd spoken Spanish, Shane thought his name was Scott, but couldn't be sure, had followed shortly after.

Things after that had definitely gotten fuzzy, but Shane didn't believe that his master would have left him alone there. He pushed himself upright, closing his eyes when the room began to spin, swallowing hard against the rising nausea. It took a couple minutes before he was ready to move again. Then, with one hand on the couch, he maneuvered himself onto his knees.

That was when he noticed the light from the inner room, the room with the bed. The door was half open. Voices spilled through along with the light, followed by the familiar sound of his master's laughter. It wasn't a joyous sound. It was a cruel sound. For a moment, Shane considered lying back down, right where he was, on the floor, and closing his eyes. He didn't want to know what was happening in that room, he really didn't.

But something told him that he HAD to know. A tiny voice in the back of his head, a voice he'd been ignoring for some time now, told him that it was important.

Standing was almost too much for him. His body hurt all over. There were fresh bruises scattered across his hips and arms. After three tries, he finally managed to get to his feet, hunched over, holding his stomach. He was going to throw up, and soon. He just hoped it wouldn't be while he was still in this room. A few slow, deep breaths cleared his vision enough for him to stagger toward the door. He peeked in, clinging to the doorframe for support. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brighter light, and he quickly wished that they hadn't.

Gui was on the bed. His hands were tied tightly together over his head, and a thick rolled-up bandana had been shoved into his mouth. The marks on Shane's body seemed like nothing compared to the scrapes and bruises that marred the boy's entire body. A pattern of long lash marks decorated his stomach and upper thighs, as if he'd been whipped. His pretty face was a mask of bruises, blood, and other, stickier, fluids. Only the steady stream of tears cleared a track down each cheek.

Shane felt his own tears rise and clamped a hand over his mouth as his master came suddenly into view. He faced the bed, his back to the door, but Shane still drew back slightly. He watched in horror as Bradshaw climbed onto the bed, pulling the struggling boy toward him by one ankle. Gui lifted his bound hands to push uselessly at Bradshaw's chest, trying to squirm away even as the larger man pinned him down with the weight of his body.

"Come on, boy," Bradshaw laughed, slapping Gui almost casually. "I'll make you a deal. You ask me real pretty, and I might be nice and untie you. Understand me? Comprende?"

He reached up and tugged the bandana from the boy's mouth. Gui immediately began to weep and plead in high-pitched, panicked Spanish. Shane didn't have to understand the words to hear the pain and terror in his voice.

Bradshaw slapped him again, harder this time. "Come on now, boy. I don't want to hear none of that Mexican. English!"

"No!" Gui cried. "No, por favor... no mas…please…please."

"What do you think, fellas?" Bradshaw looked back over his shoulder. "That good enough?"

"Not nearly." A voice answered, making Shane shudder. Hunter. Hunter and at least one other man, from the laughter that sprang up.

"I'm afraid I have to agree." Turning back to the boy beneath him, Bradshaw caught his wrists and forced them up over his head once more. "I'll just have to fuck some of that Mexican out of him."

"I think he's actually from Argentina or something," a voice Shane didn't recognize said, the words slurred.

Bradshaw only laughed. "Well, hell, then I guess I just have to fuck him even harder!"

There was more laughter. Shane turned away. A second later, Gui's screams drove him away from the door. He staggered and caught himself against the back of a chair. Behind him, he heard renewed laughter, and a worse sound, the sound of flesh against flesh.

He couldn't stay here. There was no doubt in his mind that they were raping that boy. That hadn't been an act, feigned reluctance. The terror in his eyes and voice had been real. Shane wanted to go in there and make it stop, make them leave him alone, but he knew he couldn't. At best, he'd deflect some of that brutality back toward himself, but they wouldn't let the boy go. Not until they were done with him.

Shane spotted his pants, tossed across the arm of the chair. Wincing at the stickiness between his legs, he pulled them on and started toward the door. He didn't know where he was going, but he couldn't stay here. Bradshaw would probably be pissed when he realized that he was gone, but Shane didn't care. Regardless of what happened, he wouldn't call that man master ever again.

Easing the door open, he slipped out and closed it behind him. The music from downstairs was still throbbing up through the floor, reminding Shane suddenly of his nausea. Pressing one hand to his forehead, he took slow, shallow breaths until it faded slightly. He lifted his head once more and was relieved to find a sign at the end of the hall, with an arrow pointing toward bathrooms. Concentrating on walking without falling, he started in that direction.

Maybe if his head hadn't been filled with the knowledge of what was happening behind him, maybe if he hadn't been asking himself how he could have ever called a man like that master, maybe if he hadn't been concentrating so hard on picking up one foot at a time and putting it back down, he would have seen the man coming up behind him. As the arms closed around him tightly, he let out a little shriek, and a moment later found himself pinned to the wall.

"Well, if it isn't my little friend with the good tongue. Where's your big ol' man?"

The flash of fear cleared Shane's mind. He struggled to push away from the wall, and only got slammed back harder for the effort. His head swam and his stomach threatened to spill its contents right there on the wall. Hot breath spilled across his face, reeking of beer.

"I asked you a question, son."

Shane didn't know how to answer. It didn't seem to matter. The man's hands were already crawling all over him. He heard himself whimpering pitifully as strong, rough fingers slid down the front of his pants.

"Oh, yeah, I'm going see just how good you are with that mouth, but I think maybe you owe me a good fuck first." The man ground into him, showing him that he was ready. "Right here in the hallway. I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Having me fuck you right here, where your man could come along any second?"

"No." The word came out so softly that Shane barely heard it himself.

"Now, don't be a bitch. We can do this the hard way, if you want." He tried to turn his head away from that stinking breath, only to have a hand close around his jaw and force it back. "Don't make me hurt you worse, boy."

Watching that mouth move toward his, Shane closed his eyes. The next second stretched into an eternity, waiting. Then the hand was snatched from his jaw, the weight of the body jerked away, and Shane was falling.

He landed on his ass, staring in disbelief as the dark man from the bar tossed the bald man easily into the wall. One of his big fists flew, catching the bald man in the stomach, doubling him over. Another fist struck his face, breaking the man's nose with an audible crack. Blood didn't just flow, it spurted.

Clamping one hand over his mouth, Shane retched. Suddenly, the scene in front of him didn't matter as much as getting to the bathroom. Now.

Shane half crawled until he found his feet again, staggering the rest of the way to the door marked "Men's." Shoving through, he bolted to the only stall and didn't bother to close the door before falling to his knees and vomiting. He felt like it went on forever, his head swimming, strange bright lights blossoming in front of his eyes. He felt the floor slipping away beneath him and was afraid he'd pass out again. Would he die if he passed out while he was throwing up? He wasn't sure dying would be such a bad thing.

He didn't die. He didn't even pass out, not really. Eventually, the heaving subsided and he was able to collapse against the wall, his forehead resting against the cool porcelain seat. His stomach remained in knots, but his head hurt worse, and somehow it overrode the dizziness. He felt like shit, but he'd live.

Footsteps made him jerk his head up, and he regretted it instantly. He winced and had to close his eyes again. When he opened them, he found the dark man standing there, looking down at him.

"You okay?"

Shane didn't trust himself to speak, and nodding seemed like a bad idea, so he just sat and stared. There was blood on the man's hands. Not a lot, but enough. Shane turned his head away.

The footsteps moved away then, and one of the faucets came to life. A moment later, it stopped, and the dark man returned. He held out a damp clump of paper towels, but made no move to get any closer. Looking up at him warily, Shane accepted the dripping offering.

Nodding, the dark man turned and walked away again.

With trembling hands, Shane wiped his face. He paused with the cool paper towels pressed to his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He wasn't sure what to do next. Unless he went back to that room, back to Bradshaw, he didn't have any place to go. He didn't have any money. He didn't have any friends. Bradshaw had seen to it that Shane was utterly dependant on him.

It was anger that finally allowed Shane to climb to his feet. He flushed the toilet without looking directly at it, afraid to encourage his weak stomach any further. He was still shaky and felt a little faint, but the worst of the dizziness had passed. When he stepped out of the stall, keeping one hand on the wall for support, he found the dark man still there. He stood leaning against the end of the counter, arms folded, watching him with frightening intensity.

"Feel better?"

Shane nodded cautiously, circling around him to get to the sink. He avoided looking in the mirror. Turning on the cold tap, he bent to splash water on his face. It helped to further clear his head. He scooped a few handfuls of water into his mouth to rinse away the taste of vomit. When he straightened, he discovered the dark man studying him in the mirror. He averted his eyes quickly.

The dark man reached into his pocket and took out a small tin. He flicked it open with his thumb and held it out to Shane. Without even looking at it, he shook his head slightly.

"Just mints." The dark man told him.

Shane glanced warily at the tin but made no move toward it.

"It's okay, sugar. Just take one. They're not laced or anything. I promise. It'll help settle your stomach."

Hesitantly, Shane took one of the small mints and put it in his mouth. He knew that he shouldn't, but at that moment, he doubted he could feel any worse. The dark man nodded, slipping the tin back into his pocket. Then he reached out to touch Shane's face.

Shane jerked back so forcefully that he slammed into the wall. His stomach protested, but he ignored it, staring up at the dark man with wide, frightened eyes.

For his part, the bigger man slowly raised both hands, palms out. "Easy," he murmured. "Take it easy. I didn't mean to scare you."

Unconvinced, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, Shane pushed himself back into the corner. He gauged the distance between himself and the door and doubted that he would make it if the big man tried to stop him.

"It's okay, sugar," the dark man said then, his voice soft. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Looking up at him, Shane tried to read his face for the truth. The burning anger there surprised him.

"I don't want anyone to hurt you."

It was his voice, Shane realized. Something in the dark man's voice seemed to resonate all the way down to his bones. All the fear drained out of him suddenly, leaving him feeling weak and on the verge of fresh tears. Putting both hands over his face, he sank down to the floor.

The dark man moved with him, reaching out but not touching him. "Don't. Don't cry. It's all right. I'll leave, if you want me to."

Shane bit his lip to keep from saying, no, don't. Don't leave me. Don't ever leave me.

"Damn. You really shouldn't be here," the man said with a sigh, as though he could hear Shane's thoughts. "You don't belong in a place like this."

Shane took his hands from his face, huddling further into the corner. He didn't understand the anger in the man's voice, or the strange longing that was filling him at the sound of it.

"You deserve so much better, sugar."

"How do you know?" Shane asked in a whisper, surprised to hear his own voice.

"Because everyone deserves better than this." The man gestured around them, and Shane understood that he more than just sitting there on the bathroom floor. "Hell, even I deserve better than this, and I'm not a very nice guy."

Shane found himself on the verge of reassuring him. He might not be a very nice guy, but he had shown him kindness when Shane had nearly forgotten what it was. He'd protected him, comforted him. Instead of saying any of that, he tentatively asked, "Then why are you here?"

The dark man shrugged, the heat of his anger fading slightly. "An acquaintance invited me, and I thought it would be better than sitting at home alone."

"Oh."

"My name is David, by the way." He held out a hand.

Shane hesitated, then took it. Instead of shaking his hand, the man named David just held it gently between his. His fingers were strong and warm around Shane's.

"What's your name, sugar?"

"Shane."

"Sugar Shane." David smiled. "I like it."

Shane was smiling before he knew it. When had he last smiled?

Something in David's face softened. "God, you're beautiful."

Shane felt his smile falter. Bradshaw had never called him beautiful. Pretty, yes, but never beautiful. Suddenly he couldn't meet David's eyes anymore. He felt his head tugged down by some invisible hand.

It was David's hand that brought it back up, cupping his chin gently. "Don't cry anymore, sugar. I don't want you to cry."

The tenderness of his words had the exact opposite effect than they were meant to. Shane could do nothing to stop the tears that filled his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks. Hushing him, David drew him forward by the hand, and Shane didn't resist. He fell against the big man's chest, sobbing now, misery finally overwhelming him.

David cradled him as if he was made of something fine and delicate, stroking his hair, murmuring senseless words of comfort. His breath was warm against the back of Shane's neck. It felt so right. It felt better than right. It felt perfect.

Shane lost all track of time. As his tears tapered off, he relaxed in David's strong embrace and allowed himself to be held, rocked like a child.

"Everything's going to be okay now," David whispered to him. "Nobody's ever going to hurt you again. I'll take care of you."

His words sent a trill of something like hope through Shane. Pushing away from him slightly, he looked up into David's dark eyes. With the anger pushed aside, Shane could see something else there, something strong and certain.

"I mean it, sugar. I'll take care of you, if you want me to, for as long as you want me to. Even if it's just for tonight. If tomorrow, you decide not to stay with me, I'll understand. Just let me take you out of this place."

"But…" Shane had to swallow hard and force the next few words out. "You don't even know me."

"I know. Let's just say, I want to. We can take it slow." David's fingers brushed across his cheeks, wiping away the lingering tears. "But I promise, I'll always look after you, no matter what."

"No matter what?"

David nodded solemnly.

Something happened inside Shane. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it felt as if a knot that had been growing bigger and bigger suddenly loosened. It made him want to cry again, but he didn't. He just stared up at David, looking for something to raise a doubt. He found nothing.

"Okay."

"Okay." There was enough happiness in his voice for Shane to hear it. He got the feeling that David was not someone who was often genuinely happy.

David helped him to his feet, then slid out of his jacket. As he helped Shane into it, he frowned over the bruises he came across, the anger flaring up in his eyes once more. Shane felt a hot blush of shame, but David soothed it away with gentle touches and reassuring words. When his hands came up to brush the thick collar around his neck, Shane was suddenly stricken with the urge to tear off it off. He pulled away from David enough to reach up and grab at the buckle. After a few seconds fumbling uselessly with his shaky fingers, David tugged his hands away. Shane turned away and bowed his head, allowing him to undo it for him. When the collar finally came loose, Shane jerked it from his neck and tossed it away. David wrapped both arms around him from behind and held him until the trembling had subsided, his mouth pressed to the pale skin at the back of his neck.

"Everything's going to be better now, sugar. I promise."

Strange as it was, Shane believed him.

The End

Read story #2 True Belonging