by Casey K. Cox
Free Short Fiction
Distributed at http://caseykcox.blogspot.com, and http://www.goodreads.com by Casey K. Cox.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the authors.
Be My Boy © 2011 Casey K. Cox
All rights reserved worldwide. This eBook may be distributed freely in its entirety courtesy of the author, Casey K. Cox. This work may not be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any format without express written permission from the author.
This work contains graphic language and sexual content between two men and is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.
Cover Design © 2011 by L.C. Chase
~* Written as part of the Hot Summer Days anthology for the M/M Romance Group on Goodreads. *~
~* Visit them at: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/20149 *~
The club was quiet. Owen preferred it that way. He took up his usual place near one of the exits and browsed the room. He didn’t even know what to look for anymore. Partner, master, trick – anyone who could coax a bit of life into his cock and maybe even a beat out of his tired old heart. Everything was so fucked up. Twenty-two years of life with Cole and he found himself right back where the man had found him. Turning tricks in a sex club.
One of his regulars approached with a new guy he’d not seen before. This would be a rough night. His arse clenched at the thought of it.
“Owen, you working, baby?”
“Sure, what are you looking for?”
A sneer passed between the two men that didn’t bode well for Owen’s evening. “Me and Jimmy here want a little bad fun. Are you up for it?”
“Define ‘bad fun’.”
“The usual. You know I won’t hurt you too much.”
Not too much, right. Miles would still make him fucking hurt though, and not in the good sexy way Cole used to, that made the room fade away and only Owen’s heartbeat remain. Miles got off on real pain.
“I’m not really up for that tonight Miles, I’m sorry. Perhaps one of the other lads will help you out.”
“We don’t want a lad, we want an older guy. We want you.”
“Where?” Sucker for an order, as always.
“In the alley. Ten minutes. Usual price?”
“Not for two. Half again on top.”
“Deal.”
The two men walked off and Owen had a sinking feeling he’d regret their business transaction. But fuck it, what else could he do? And he had bills to pay.
It was cool for August. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders wishing he’d brought a jacket. Sign of his age probably. He never remembered feeling cold leaving a club when he used to go out with Cole. But that was years ago. Cole always wore a jacket. He’d have to remember that for next time.
The men were waiting by the fire escape. Jimmy patted the old metal crate that provided a good height for bending over or laying on to be fucked. A popular spot at weekends; sometimes you’d have to wait for it to free up or use the wall instead. In Owen’s younger days, it always used to be dustbins. The big plastic wheelie bins businesses had nowadays were too high.
Miles grabbed him around the back of the neck and pulled him in to bite his lip. He pushed him into Jimmy, who crushed a hand around Owen’s cock and laughed. “I hear this doesn’t work anymore. Is that true?”
“Works just fine. Why, you wanting me to top for you?”
Jimmy backhanded him. Fuck, that stupid bastard. Touchy about being topped. One to remember for next time. Owen couldn’t take the beatings, not as a kid either. Shame some things never changed.
“Fucking speak to me like that. I’ll break your legs,” Jimmy spat.
That would be new. Last time a trick went bad, Owen sported a couple of broken fingers. Could have been a lot worse.
Miles threw the money on the ground. Arsehole, why did he always do that? Owen knew what came next, but it seemed to be part of the game Miles liked to play. He reached to pick up the cash and Miles kicked him to his knees. Jimmy grabbed Owen’s belt and hauled him to his feet. He backhanded him again with a laugh. “Drop your trousers, whore. Your arse has a date with my dick.”
Owen sighed. So original. He took out a strip of condoms and a sachet of lube and handed them over before pushing down his trousers and leaning over the crate.
“Spread your cheeks. I want to see what I’m fucking.”
He reached back to pull his arse apart. These days, he had the sense to prep himself before he left home. The first couple of times he’d fucked after Cole, the guys had nearly ripped him apart. At least he was still capable of learning a lesson or two.
Jimmy shoved a couple of lubed fingers in while Miles did his usual thing of attaching straps and weights around Owen’s balls and cock. Owen had never got off on this kind of stuff and when it happened without any prep it wasn’t nice. He made sure to cry out a little. Miles liked that.
Jimmy rammed himself into Owen’s arse and started fucking. The rocking motion shook the weights and soon Owen whimpered in pain for real. Bastards. They slapped his arse until it pained almost as much as the weights tugging at his balls. After a few more minutes, they shuffled around so that Miles could have his cock sucked. He always forced it as far as it would go and held Owen’s head in place. When he let up, he’d let Owen get a decent job going and then force his head down again. Always a power play with this guy, and Jimmy seemed to be no different. Owen zoned out and let it all wash over him. It would be over soon, and he had a roll of notes in his pocket.
At some point, the guys changed position and Miles did his usual of adding a few fingers around his cock to the fuck. Owen felt tired and lonelier than ever as Miles finished up and Jimmy shot a load down his throat. Miles retrieved his weights and pushed Owen to the floor. As he tried to stand, Jimmy kicked him back down. “I haven’t had my money’s worth yet. What about a nice fisting?”
Owen was sure Jimmy was about to start laying the boot in, when a voice shouted from the end of the alley. “You’ve had your fun, now piss off!”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Jimmy walked toward the sound of the voice but Miles froze. “Jimmy, leave it, mate. Come on. We’re done here.” He looked down at Owen. “See you next week, old timer. I’ll get us a room so we won’t be disturbed.”
Owen let his head fall onto the cold concrete floor and closed his eyes. What was the point of getting up? This wasn’t a life.
“Why do you let them treat you like that?”
Owen opened his eyes to see a young man standing over him, reaching out a hand. He blinked a few times, trying to make out his features. The guy blocked the security light, and it threw a stark halo around his head and shoulders. Owen just closed his eyes again. He’d really fucking lost it this time. There were no angels or knights on white chargers. Fairy tales happened to other people.
“Come on,” the man said. “Get off the floor and for god’s sake, pull your trousers up.”
Owen opened his eyes again. The hand was still there reaching out for him and he had the strangest sense of déjà vu. A chill ran over his body. Cole. He held out his hand and was hauled to his feet, the same way he’d met Cole, all those years ago. The younger man reached down and pulled up his trousers for him.
“Thanks. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look dead on your feet. You after the award for Cardiff’s oldest rent boy?”
The guy was joking. A cute smile ghosted across his face and sent a ripple of something through Owen’s body, but it just wasn’t funny. “What else is there for someone like me?” Owen slumped back
to the floor and leaned against the metal chest that still had the used condoms stuck to the top. The remains of his shame, staring him in the face.
“Someone like you?”
Why didn’t this kid just piss off himself? “Look at me. I’m a washed up slave boy who can’t even come without permission. I don’t belong anymore, not anywhere.”
“Right, that’s it. Get up.”
Owen obeyed before thinking about it. God, that felt good. Simple instructions given without scorn or malice and that didn’t carry mindless pain behind them.
“Get the rest of your clothes on, you’re coming home with me.”
Owen grabbed his shirt from the floor. “Home?”
The man started to walk away and Owen scuttled after him. “That’s what you want isn’t it, what you need? Someone to take care of you.”
“But you’re–”
“What? Not good enough for you?”
“Hardly. I was going to say you’re young and hot. You could have anyone. Why pick an old whore that’s still warm from his last punter?”
“Maybe I could, and admittedly it wasn’t the best introduction. But when it comes down to it, you’re a lost slave and I have a vacancy. We can work out the details as we go along. Where are you living at the moment?”
“Just off the bay. I have to be out of my apartment by the end of the week. I was trying to get some money together for a hostel.”
“We’ll swing by and pick up your stuff. I have a spare room you can use while we figure this out.”
Owen felt almost too scared to breathe. He couldn’t be this lucky, not after losing Cole. The old man had been so perfect, they’d been so happy; Owen hadn’t expected to find anything remotely close ever again. Hark at him calling Cole an old man. Owen was the old man in this outfit. Damn, and he didn’t like it one bit. He was used to being the cute one. Now people would wonder what on earth this guy was doing with him. “Um, excuse me, sir?”
“Yes.”
Owen did a quickstep shuffle to catch up and walk beside his saviour. “What’s your name?”
The young guy smiled, a full blinding smile this time, and Owen’s breath caught in his chest. “You can call me Master.”
xxxx
Owen felt uncomfortable as the guy hailed a cab. Would he be expected to go halves on the fare? He gave the address to the driver and climbed in the back next to the youngster. Now what? The streets blurred past and the silence deepened. Owen’s apartment wasn’t too bad; at least he wouldn’t feel embarrassed having the guy come up. He’d packed most of his stuff already even though he had nowhere to go.
When the cab pulled up, the guy spoke again. “Can you grab a few things quickly? I’ll get Drive to wait for us.”
“Yeah, you want to wait here?”
“I’ll help you.” He explained the situation to the cab driver, who switched off the engine and got out to help them. Owen saw the youngster hand the cabbie a roll of notes as he unlocked the front door. It looked like a lot of money. He didn’t comment, just led the way, up the couple of flights of stairs, to the flat he’d called home for the last year.
He’d moved back to Cardiff thinking it would be cheaper and easier to start again. He should have been set. Would have been, if Cole’s bitch of a sister hadn’t contested the will and taken everything. His home of twenty years in London was about to be put on the market for just over a million but he wouldn’t see a penny. She’d handed Owen a cheque for twenty grand and told him to get lost. He didn’t have the strength to fight her, and what was money anyway? He’d give up everything just to have Cole back.
“You live light,” the cabbie said, looking around the apartment.
“I never really settled here. Cardiff’s changed too much. I haven’t got my bearings yet.”
They chatted about the old city before Ikea, marinas, stadiums and Torchwood and loaded his suitcase and the few boxes he’d already packed into the cab. “So who’s this guy then?” asked the cabbie.
The youngster answered without hesitation. “I’m his boyfriend.”
The cabbie looked from one to the other. Owen’s mouth dropped open. “Got yourself a nice toy boy is it? Good for you. Don’t let him bleed you dry mind, you kick his arse out to work.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Where to now then?”
They climbed back into the car and the youngster gave the new address. Owen snorted to himself. He hadn’t been to Penarth in years. He wondered how the kid ended up in snobsville. Still, it wasn’t as if he had options. A few weeks were all he needed and then he’d be off. He let the conversation rumble on around him and closed his eyes.
Owen had started going to the club to look for a partner. He’d been hopeful for the first few weeks. But all he’d found were cruel men that fucked him, abused him, and threw him away. He felt so lost. Passion was a thing of the past and he didn’t even get hard for those guys, just opened his ass and his mouth and let them get on with it. It was all they wanted anyway. Owen felt broken.
When the money ran out, he’d started taking more extreme partners for cash to pay the bills. A few trips to casualty – one after a beating by four blokes that he didn’t even understand because it wasn’t sexual – and his hope faded. Maybe it wasn’t only Cole whose life had ended.
During Owen’s last hospital visit he decided to go for one more month. If things didn’t change, he’d leave. Now he needed a new plan. He gave himself three months with this new guy to make a go of it and live or…well, he wasn’t going back to the gutter, so it was a case of live or die.
Owen had looked for a job. No one was interested in hiring a guy pushing fifty who hadn’t worked for fifteen years. All he knew was how to care for a Master. His body ached with loneliness and lack of affection. He couldn’t even jerk himself off: there was no one to give him permission to come. He’d tried to imagine Cole’s voice in his head, but it wasn’t enough. He needed the hand on his shoulder, the kiss to his temple and the hot, ragged breath of his Master over his face.
So, here he was – last ditch attempt at getting his shit together. A slight worry niggled at the back of his mind. He came across some really fucked up people over the last few months. What on earth did this hot, young beefcake want with an old man? Not old, older. But worn out and used up right now. And more worrying than that, did Owen honestly have anything left to give?
“This is the place, Drive. Help us unload?”
“You got it.”
“This is your house?” Owen stepped out of the car. Well, fucking hell. Penarth had changed too by the looks of it. They were pulled up outside what looked like an old converted warehouse standing on the edge of a marina. Owen loved the soft sound, like bamboo wind chimes and the jangle of metal on metal, which came from the rigging of the small boats and yachts rocking on the water. He’d never been into sailing but he and Cole had tried to get out of London as much as possible, and Owen loved the water. Just being near it gave him a sense of freedom, of bigger things than him going on in the world. It was why he moved to the bay.
“You like it?”
“Looks great so far.”
The place was huge. Massive windows spanning two floors filled the space that would have been the old doors. A flight of stone steps led to the entranceway. He grabbed a box under one arm and his suitcase in the other and followed his new Master.
The door opened directly into a large open plan kitchen-diner in light honey-coloured wood with bare brick walls. Damn, this would give his place in London a run for its money. Oh, except it wasn’t his place anymore. A mezzanine floor that seemed to be a living room overlooked the space.
“I think you might have fallen on your feet with this one,” the cabbie said, putting the box he was carrying on the dining table.
“I think you might be right, Drive. Were there anymore boxes?”
“I’ll get ’em. I can lug a few boxes for the money he paid me.”
Owen’s new Master fl
icked on lots of lights and reached for the kettle. “I should do that,” Owen said, walking over to take it out of his hand.
“I’m perfectly capable of making coffee. We’ll discuss duties and boundaries once you’ve found your way around.”
“Right. It’s a nice place. You live here alone?”
“I do, yes.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Topic for another time. I’ll show you the bathroom and your bedroom. The boxes can go in the office for now.”
The cabbie brought in the rest of the boxes and wished them good luck and good night. Owen felt sad to see him leave after the lightness of the conversation. Now he wasn’t sure what to do or say, how to act around this odd bloke who wouldn’t say what he wanted from Owen. But he followed on the tour of the house in silent appreciation. The main bathroom was finished in a natural stone and the same honey-coloured wood of the kitchen. It housed the biggest bath Owen had ever seen and a small alcove to the side contained a wet room with a rain shower overhead. The bloke, Owen decided, must be loaded. The living room had patio doors leading out onto a large deck that overlooked the marina. A home cinema setup with a huge flat-screen hung on a wheeled frame in one corner. Everything seemed to be on a huge scale and very minimalist, not at all what Owen was used to. Cole had been a hoarder. But at least the massive sofas looked comfortable. Leather, expensive by the looks of it and a few shades darker than the wooden floors, with contrasting throws and seats deep enough to accommodate Owen’s long legs. A shaggy rug sat between them with a square, stone coffee table.
“Sit down. I’ll bring the coffee. Are you hungry? I have left overs in the fridge.”
“Just coffee is fine, thanks.”
Owen slipped off his boots and made himself comfortable. When his new friend came back, he placed the cups on the table and chose the seat next to Owen. At least that message was clear. If Owen got the first fuck out of the way, the rest would be easier. But the guy didn’t touch him, he just sat there.
