It was a city of haves and have-nots, and below the have-nots were the slaves. Everything was concrete and defined. The haves ruled, owned everything and could do anything they wanted. The have-not were the workers, the ones who made the city function. And the slaves, they were below even the most menial workers. They were owned by anyone rich enough, not even having the right of freedom. Whatever an owner wanted of his slave, he got.

Chris Jericho was somewhat of a rarity amongst them. He had the status and wealth to match almost anyone in the city, but he didn't own a slave. Having only recently moved to the city, it was widely regarded that he would soon become like everyone else. His work colleagues had offered to take him to an auction so that he could make a purchase, but so far he had refused. He had been shocked when he first came to the city at the inhuman treatment meted out to the slaves: it was common to see them being led around the city on leashes, or being beaten, and Chris' colleagues often boasted of the sexual torments they put their slaves through. It was only when one of Chris' friends in the city warned him that people were beginning to question his reluctance that he agreed to go along to a slave auction with his friends.

Slave auctions were held regularly in purpose-built halls: it was big business. Slave masters, who brought and sold to and from the people of the city, controlled proceedings. They would display their wares, and an auction would take place. These were social gatherings, and often people would buy slaves and then sell them back when they were tired of them. The night was seen as an excuse for the rich to show off their wealth.

Chris watched the routine silently, ignoring his colleagues as they got drunk and started heckling, shouting abusive comments at the slaves. Each slave, a young man or woman, would be brought onto the stage, usually wearing the rags that befitted their status, with their hands shackled in front of them and a leash around their necks. The slave master would then describe the slave's particular talents, be it cleaning, gardening, cooking, or sex, and the bidding would start.

It seemed that most bidders were interested in pretty young girls or burly young men. It also seemed that sex was the most desirable talent, although Chris' colleagues informed him that any slave could be used for sex, and they would be expected to submit to whatever their master wanted without complaint.

One of his colleagues purchased a red headed girl who, eager to please her new master, crawled under the table and began to suck his cock. He smiled and winked at Chris. Another colleague bought a young man, but Chris just couldn't bring himself to do it. The whole thing seemed so inhuman.

The last slave was greeted with laughter from the assembled crowd. The slave master dragged the young man onto the stage and finally quieted the crowd. The slave looked quite young, early twenties at best, and he had blond hair that mostly fell over his face. He was thin, and his upper body was covered with bruises, his lower body barely covered with tatty cargo pants. Chris was struck by the sadness of this young man's demeanor, and intrigued by him. There was an air of individuality about him that Chris had never encountered before.

The slave master spoke. "I'm fed up with bringing this slave out to show you, yes its Jeffrey Hardy again. The one who cries if you try to fuck him. The one who no one wants. Honestly, I don't know why I bother even trying to sell him. If anyone is willing to pay five dollars, they can take him. Hell even that is more than he's worth."

This was designed to be a humiliation for the young men. He had been shunned by both masters and slaves alike because he was `sensitive', and didn't have the right look. The two masters who had spent money on him had asked for a refund. There was a hierarchy even among slaves and this young man was at the bottom of it.

There was a silence as the crowd waited to see if anyone would be foolish enough to pay the money. Chris found himself that fool, standing up and proclaiming, "I'll take him."

His colleagues berated him but Chris was unperturbed. If he must conform to this hideous practice, he'd pick someone he wanted. He walked over to the payment desk to pick up his purchase, and was handed a leash, a sign of control, and the transaction was complete.

Almost without realizing, he tugged on the leash and the young man began to follow him. His hands were restrained, hanging in front of him, held together with a thick black tape. He walked behind Chris nervously, flinching every time his new master turned to look at him.

When they had traveled a little way from the building and were making their way along a dimly lit alley towards Chris' home, the master stopped to look at his purchase.

Immediately he flinched, fearing what, Chris did not know. Perturbed, he lifted his hand and brushed the blond hair away from the young man's face. When he did that he saw the abject fear in his green eyes, it was almost terror. Looking more closely Chris saw that those eyes were bruised, and the young man's torso was covered in hundreds of tiny scars as well as bruises. What he'd been through, Chris couldn't even begin to guess. But, despite this, the man was still beautiful. There was a dull fire behind those vivid green eyes, a spirit that his experiences had still failed to destroy.

"Your name is Jeffrey, isn't it?" Chris asked, his accent betraying his Canadian roots. "Do you prefer to be called Jeffrey or Jeff?"

The young man's eyes widened. "I… I don't have a name master. I'm just slave." His voice was soft and faltering, with a southern lilt.

"I don't want to call you slave." Chris smiled at him. "I'd like to call you Jeff… and I'd like you to call me Chris."

"Should I not call you master? You own me; I must show you the correct respect."

"Please, call me Chris."

Jeff lowered his head. "As you wish."

Chris stared at him a little, then gathered his thoughts and continued walking. He didn't even realize that he was still holding the leash. His mind was whirling; he owned a man, a man who just in appearance was like nothing Chris had ever known.

*******************************************

When they reached home, Chris was beginning to wonder what he had done. He had nowhere for Jeff to sleep, the young man had no clothes, nothing at all. And Chris wondered what he needed a slave for? What would Jeff do all day while Chris was at work?

The first thing Chris did was remove the leash from around Jeff's neck. He winced when he saw a red mark, showing how tight it had been. Jeff just stood there, shaking a little, waiting for Chris to give him an order.

"Are you hungry Jeff?" he smiled as Jeff's eyes widened in shock.

"Yes… yes I am," Jeff stammered, wondering what he new master had in store for him.

"I'm gonna order pizza. Want one?"

"Whatever… whatever my master wishes me to have."

Chris was shocked by this response. The young man was obviously starving, but he seemed so passive, and shy, making Chris wonder what had happened to him to make him that way. He was sure that somewhere inside Jeff was a passionate and assertive person: that spark behind his eyes had almost convinced him of it.

As Chris dialed for food, Jeff stood, rooted to the spot. He couldn't understand why Chris hadn't hit him yet, or tried to touch him. He didn't dare look up. He just waited.

Chris came back and took Jeff's hand, leading him to the couch and sitting down. He looked surprised when Jeff didn't follow suit.

"You can sit down." Immediately Jeff sat on the floor at Chris' feet. The Canadian laughed. "You can sit on the couch."

Cautiously Jeff seated himself next to his new master, resting his still taped hands in his lap. Chris looked at them in regret.

"I'm sorry Jeff, I forgot about your hands, let me take that tape off." Passively Jeff sat there as Chris unraveled a few layers of tape, not even reacting as it was pulled from the skin, leaving a raw, red mark. Chris caught his breath as several scars on each wrist were revealed to him. He said nothing, wary of upsetting this young man who had experienced god-only-knew what.

The food arrived a few minutes later, Jeff offering to fetch it. Chris agreed and gave him some money. The time alone gave him chance to think. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask Jeff, and he couldn't even begin to know how.

Jeff returned with to pizza boxes, which he handed to Chris. Scared, he sat back down, eating ravenously when Chris handed him his food.

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" Chris asked, having already noted how thin Jeff was.

"I… I don't know," Jeff sighed. "Slaves eat on scraps and leftovers. Bad slaves like me sometimes don't get that."

"Oh." Chris didn't know what to say. He was trying to understand what kind of city he was living in, that could allow such treatment. "Jeff, it won't be like that here with me. I'd never see you go hungry."

For a moment he almost saw the man smile. "Thank you." His eyes flickered up to meet with Chris', and then he looked away. For the rest of the meal Chris chattered away to Jeff, trying to make him feel more comfortable. He told him of his background and what he did.

"I work as an architect, I moved here a few months ago to work, they pay me well for what I do but I'd love to work for myself, designing people's houses." Jeff had finished his food by now, and he was chewing his lip with nerves. "I… I lived in Canada all my life until I moved here. It's… it's different." There was interest in Jeff's eyes but he seemed too terrified to ask Chris anything.

Sadly, Chris pushed his food to one side. "Jeff, I don't have anywhere for you to sleep, so I'll get some blankets and you can sleep on the couch, is that OK?" The terror on Jeff's face subsided a little.

"I can sleep on the floor, I don't want to be any trouble," Jeff protested.

"It's no trouble." Chris shook his head. "Did the others make you sleep on the floor?"

Jeff nodded sadly, looking away lest his master should see the easy tears that welled up in his eyes.

"I won't treat you like that Jeff. I'll just go and get some blankets, OK?"

When he returned, Jeff had put the pizza boxes in the bin and was stood by the couch awaiting whatever would come next. Chris lay the blankets down and smiled at his charge. "Thanks for tidying up. Now… tomorrow I have a breakfast meeting, but as soon as I'm finished I'll come back and take you shopping, we'll get you some clothes and whatever else you need."

Jeff's voice was shaky when he tried to speak. "You d… don't have to do that. Your slave…. Isn't w…worth having money spent on him."

"I'll be the judge of that, yeah? Now, you sleep. The bathroom's down the hall, next to my room if you need anything." Jeff nodded. "Goodnight."

"Thank you." As Chris left the room Jeff's eyes filled with tears in shock. His new master was being so nice to him, and so far he hadn't demanded anything in return. Jeff figured that he just felt sorry for him, and that made him feel sad, because he liked this master. He had pretty long blond hair that looked soft to the touch, an infectious smile when he cared to use it, and stunning blue eyes, that on some people would be as cold as ice but on Chris sparkled like sapphires.

Sadly, he pulled off his shoes and pants, then curled up under the blankets and cried himself, as he had done every night since he could remember, to sleep.

Chris couldn't sleep. All he could think about was Jeff. He was beautiful, and Chris was fighting his desire to go out there, to hold him if nothing else. But his instinct told him that the young man was scared, and scarred, and he had been so badly treated previously it would take a long time to build his trust. But before he could do that he needed to know what exactly had happened to him. And although he knew it would be traumatic for Jeff, he just had to ask him.

***********************************

Chris tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, his mind filled with dreams and nightmares of the young man he had brought into his world. When finally morning came he rose, half disbelieving that he would walk out of his bedroom and see a young man asleep on the couch. He dressed and gathered his things and thoughts for the morning's meeting. He thanked the lord that it wasn't an important meeting, for he knew that he would be unable to concentrate on anything. Anything except Jeff. Cautiously, so as not to wake him, Chris walked through the living room, pausing to check on Jeff before he left. His heart sank as he saw the tracks of dried tears on Jeff's cheeks, although his immediate thought was thanks that the young man was still there.

And he was still there when Chris returned. Still sleeping, as if sleep was a luxury that had previously been denied him. Gently, Chris touched Jeff's hand and knelt by the side of the couch.

"Jeff?" He kept his voice low and soft. "Wake up. You've been sleeping for ages." Slowly the Jeff's eyes opened, and that familiar horror returned. "I… I fell asleep… I didn't mean to… what… what do you want me to do?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes furiously to try and awaken himself.

"Calm down," Chris hadn't expected that reaction. "Jeff, it's ok, it's me, Chris. You slept for so long; I just wanted to make sure that you were ok."

"I… I didn't do wrong?" Jeff looked confused.

"No, nothing wrong. You were tired, that's all. I don't mind that." Chris smiled at him and touched his hand in a touch that was purely meant as a reassuring one, but that Jeff took as something else, that horror passing over his face again. "I just finished my meeting, so I came back to make sure you were ok. I know I promised to take you shopping, and we can still do that if you like."

"I… I'd like that." Jeff was still faltering and unsure. "If it is what my… my master wishes…."

"Don't call me your master Jeff." Chris had already come to hate that word. "I just want you to be comfortable here. There are no strings; I don't want anything in return, just…" It was hard for Chris to explain how he felt about owning Jeff. In his mind, he thought that if he had to conform to this practice, he would do it his own way. He wanted to treat Jeff like a friend, a companion; he wasn't sure what to call it without it sounding sordid and dirty. All he knew for sure is that he wanted to see what this young man could be, if he was allowed to live without fear.

"Thank you." Jeff could sense what Chris meant, and it reassured him.

Chris stood up, suddenly unsure of his own feelings. "You go take a shower Jeff. I'll be in the kitchen. I'll do us some coffee and toast, ok?"

"I can make breakfast when I've showered if you wish," Jeff said quietly.

"No, it's ok, you relax. There are towels in the bathroom and I've left a T-shirt in there for you to wear. It's probably too big, but you can wear it for now until we buy you some clothes of your own."

"Thank you." Jeff picked up his pants and walked towards the bathroom. He hid his face from Chris; hiding the tears pricking his eyes at the kindness he was being shown.

Chris watched Jeff, noting with horror marks, cuts and bruises on the back of his legs. There seemed to be many scars, welts and burns, more than Chris could even comprehend. It shocked him into determination. If he wanted to help Jeff… whatever he wanted for Jeff, he would have to find out exactly what had happened to him first.

***************************

Chris could hardly believe what he was doing. He normally hated spending any more money than necessary, but he found himself giving free reign to Jeff to buy whatever clothes he liked. Not only that, encouraging him too. Jeff was nervous at first, looking to Chris to tell him what to wear, but once Chris had given him permission to choose whatever he liked, he was more eager.

Decent clothes only enhanced Jeff's beauty. Chris found himself more and more attracted to this young man, pleased as the freedom to choose brought Jeff out of himself a little. He smiled at Chris in thanks, the first look of genuine happiness that Chris had ever seen on that elfin face. Jeff truly was grateful: he'd never been spoiled like this before, but in the back of his mind he wondered what Chris would want in return. He'd seen the way that the Canadian looked at him, the sly glances when he thought Jeff wasn't looking.

It was confusing for him though. He hardly knew his new master, but he felt less fear, as if he was in less danger from him than he had been from previous masters. Yet he was still a master. He could ask for anything from Jeff, and the young man would be in no position to refuse. If only Chris could be different, then Jeff could perhaps trust him. Now though, he wanted to trust him, but he couldn't, not yet.

After they had brought Jeff everything he needed Chris drove to the grocery store to pick up a few things. Wanting to thank his master, and showing a little confidence, Jeff offered to cook a Chinese meal that evening. Chris was delighted that Jeff seemed to be coming out of himself a little and agreed, buying everything that Jeff would need and bestowing that infectious smile on his young charge. He was pleased that he had managed to gain the trust of the young man somewhat: he would need it as he resolved to ask Jeff about his past after the meal that night.

*****************************

As Jeff set about to cooking that evening, Chris laid the table. Jeff looked surprised to see two place settings. Noting the look, Chris reassured his charge of what he had promised before.

"I won't treat you like they did. I'd like you to eat with me." Chris sat down and watched as Jeff prepared what turned out to be an exquisite meal. He couldn't praise Jeff enough, and wondered where the young man had learned to cook like this. He obviously had a talent.

"Jeff that was incredible." Chris pushed his plate to one side with a contented sigh. "You're very talented. Where did you learn to cook like that?"

He hadn't meant anything by it, but Chris regretted the question as soon as he had asked it. Jeff's face fell, as if remembering itself was painful to him.

"I… I learned that… before I was a slave." Reluctant to allow his master to see him upset, he swiftly picked up the plates and dishes and began loading the dishwasher. He knew that Chris wanted to talk to him about his past, but he really didn't want to.

"Jeff…. Leave the dishes please." Chris tried to keep kindness in his voice, but Jeff sensed the order behind it and immediately stopped, looking up at his master.

"You wish to ask me about my past, don't you master?"

Chris was surprised; the young man was more astute than he had thought. "I would like to find out a little more about you Jeff."

"I will tell you whatever you want to know. You are my master and I can't deny you your wants. Can I put the dishwasher on first though?" He needed the time to figure out exactly how to describe what he had been through.

"Sure. I'll go wait in the lounge." Chris still flinched every time Jeff called him master, but if that was the only way that he'd find out what Jeff had been though, he figured that he'd have to use it to his advantage.

A few minutes later Jeff came into the lounge. Tentatively he sat down next to Chris and looked at him carefully; waiting for the first in what he guessed would be a barrage of questions.

There was an awkward silence, broken eventually by Chris' uncertain question,

"What happened?"

That caught Jeff off guard. He'd expected something more direct, about how he'd become a slave, or why his last masters had got rid of him.

Chris could see that Jeff was unsure of what he was asking, so he spoke again,

"What happened from the beginning Jeff? Please. I know it's hard, but I need to know. I want to help, if I can."

"You can't help," Jeff snapped. "I'm too far gone to help."

"Tell me why," Chris pressured. "Let me at least understand."

"OK." Jeff took a deep breath and went back to when he was eighteen for the first time in an age. "I came here when I was eighteen years old. A friend told me there was a job waiting for me. There wasn't. So, I lived rough for a few weeks, and then got a job at a torture club. I worked there for five years, and then I tried to slit my wrists. The slave master you bought me off saved my life, and claimed ownership of it. He trained me in the ways of a slave and sold me to one man. He returned me because I cried when he tried to have sex with me. The same with the second master. After that no one wanted me. I was useless to the slave master so he used me as his own torture model until someone would buy me. Two years later, you did. Thank you for getting me away from him. Please don't send me back." Jeff was shaking by the end of this speech. It was as if he just wanted everything to go away and pretend that it had never happened, yet in the same moment knowing that he never could, knowing that everything was a part of him. His experiences had shaped him, he knew that. But he didn't cry. Not over this.

Chris' head was reeling. What the hell? He couldn't even to begin to comprehend even half of what Jeff had just said.

"Jeff… look I know this is hard for you, I know it's dredging up bad memories that you probably don't want to, but I need you to go through everything with me. I'm unfamiliar with a few things. Look…" Chris wasn't sure that what he wanted to say was getting through to Jeff. "I'm not gonna judge you, or hate you, or think bad of you, I just want to know… just so I understand… so I can be there for you if you need me to."

Jeff nodded slowly, only half understanding. If Chris wanted to help him, why was he making him bring up all of these bad memories? Yet… that someone who understood would be there for him? That was something Jeff had never had before. Everyone who had offered to help had let him down, in one way or another. Maybe Chris would be different. Maybe.

"OK. I'll tell you everything."

Impulsively, Chris leant over and squeezed Jeff's hand. Instead of flinching as he normally did, Jeff found the touch comforting. He nodded, prompting Chris' first question.

"Why did you leave home?"

"I… I grew up in a small town in North Carolina. There was just me, my dad and my brother Matt. I… I never fitted in. I knew from the age of about 12 that I was attracted to boys and not girls. I didn't understand my feelings. There was this boy, my friend, he… he said he understood… and talking to him, I realized that I was gay and that it wasn't my fault and I was normal. On my eighteenth birthday… I told my brother. I thought he'd understand. I was still the same person, just I was never gonna get married and have kids like he was. He hit the roof. He… he told me to leave, said I must never tell dad, never tell anyone. I grabbed all my things and ran. I… I called up my friend and he said that there was a city where people like me were welcomed, where we were normal. So I came to this city." Jeff swallowed deeply. He didn't want to go back to this part of his life, but a gentle squeeze from Chris' hand reassured him enough to continue. "At first, I was amazed. There were men walking hand in hand, like it was normal. I felt like I belonged. Then I couldn't get a job because they had slaves to do everything and I had no experience. I lived rough and begged for a few weeks, and then I saw an ad for staff at a torture club. I didn't know what went on at the time, but I was desperate for a job so I went for it. They paid us a little and provided somewhere to live. I thought it was ideal. At first I worked behind the bar, and as a waiter. These guys would proposition me but I always said no. I did that for about three years and then, life was OK. I was seeing this guy, he was nice… he used to go to the club… then one day he just finished with me. Said that he'd got what he wanted off me and that he was off to the next piece of fresh meat. Those were his exact words. Well… I was devastated. I went off the rails."

Jeff closed his eyes. He'd blocked out these memories, or at least tried to. They came back to him in nightmares, or when his slave master reminded him of it, but he always tried to push them back to the back of his mind.

"I know… it's hard to relive bad memories… but please Jeff… you've done really well to tell me everything so far… what happened when you went off the rails?" Chris stroked his hand tenderly, moving closer to Jeff so that he could wipe the tears from his cheeks. The tender motion made Jeff's eyes fly wide open, but the fear in those green orbs faded as he saw the care and concern in Chris' eyes.

"I wasn't turning up for work. They eventually said that I could either work as a torture model or go back on the streets. I was so desperate I had no choice. I went to work as a torture model."

"What's a torture model Jeff?" Chris was quickly finding out how little he knew about the city he lived in.

"Men… they pay money to the club… to torture people. They can whip you; burn you, cut you… whatever they want within limits. They like to hear you scream."

"You did that?" Chris pulled Jeff close to him, and the young man, traumatized and confused beyond words, accepted the comfort, sobbing into Chris' shoulder.

"I hated it. That's where most of the scars on my body came from. The others are from the slave master. I was a torture model for two years. I just couldn't handle it, and one day ran into the…. Into the toilets with… with a knife and slit my wrists. I… I just wanted to die…. I wanted to die. But…. But he found me…. The slave master saved my life and that meant I belonged to him. He took me away from the club and tried to put me to work as a slave. I tried to be a good slave because at least they weren't torturing me, but they wanted sex and I just can't be a whore. I can't be a whore. Masters… they like dutiful slaves, who will do whatever their masters want, but I can't be like that… and I used to cry so even the other slaves hated me… I was so weak…. I am weak. When people refused to buy me the slave master began to use me as his own torture model… he took out his frustrations on me… sometimes people would even pay to watch. He enjoyed having someone…. to humiliate… that's what he did at the auction each week… then you bought me." With that Jeff broke down completely. Chris held him tightly, trying to will away the tears that fell down his own cheeks. How could anyone treat a human being like that?

Eventually Jeff stopped crying and wiped his eyes, looking up at his master shyly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Then he noticed the tears on Chris' cheeks. "Don't cry over your slave, master."

"You poor thing Jeff. I wish I could have done something… anything…"

"I don't want your sympathy. Please don't think like that… I just… please don't treat me any differently; I am still your slave and will try and do my best for you." Jeff didn't want Chris to tread on eggshells around him; he just wanted life to be as it was.

"Jeff…. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all of that. It means a lot."

"You asked me to tell you master, I could not refuse." Jeff did want to trust his master, but he didn't quite, not yet.

"I'm sorry Jeff. I'm sorry we're in this situation." Emotionally exhausted, Chris stood up. "I'm going to bed. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Jeff felt like rejection had cut through him like a knife. Chris had made him think of all these horrible memories and then just left him alone. Shaking his head, he curled up to sleep, in one way glad that Chris knew everything, but fearful that it would ruin the blossoming friendship between them.

Read Chapter Two of Two of When It Falls Apart