The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  Pierre had dressed up in a darkly rich violet shirt, black skinny jeans and white trainers. He’d slicked what hair he had back with gel. He was wearing a little smudged eyeliner, just for the punk look.

  Chris shut the door and fastened his seatbelt. He recognised the music playing, it was a choice that surprised him. Alanis Morissette? Who knew this little punk would have a taste for the Canadian songwriter who liked to chew men up and spit them out in lyrical form.

  “Look. Just for you…” Pierre brandished the black nail polish.

  It elicited a genuine laugh, “Suits you…”

  Pierre put the car into gear.

  “Good day?”

  “It’s been okay,” Chris answered in that typical English trait of downplaying everything. He had spent the morning in the local pool, but it hadn’t satisfied him. He’d then retreated to his studio, but that had dissatisfied him greatly. He’d then taken a leisurely bath before eating tea and getting ready. It was a decidedly normal day, of which he was grateful for. No hitmen trying to off him. No Samuel Le Bont trying to bully him into being part of his drug crew. No Alexis to confuse him either.

  “What about you?” Chris turned to Pierre.

  “Oh I’ve had a good day. Been nervous though…”

  “About what?”

  “This…” Pierre shrugged a little embarrassed.

  “This? Why?” What was he nervous about? Chris hadn’t even contemplated that he should be nervous, if anything he’d just been excited at the prospect of hanging out with Pierre.

  This revelation surprised Chris, he hadn’t noticed but he’d been excited to see Pierre.

  What the hell was happening to him?

  “Just… I like you, I guess…” Pierre fumbled for the words.

  Chris didn’t know what to say. The words had failed him, which was another new concept to wrestle with.

  “I guess because you’re the first person who doesn’t treat me any differently,”

  “Why would anyone treat you differently?”

  “Because of who I am, and where I come from…” Pierre was reluctant to shed light on it, he glanced at Chris hoping he was satisfied with the answer.

  “Because you’re gay? I don’t think people are all that bothered anymore… Once upon a time I guess it was this huge thing, now its…”

  “Accepted. Which is great. We owe a lot to the people who fought for our rights…” Pierre capitalised on the potential tangent of conversation.

  “Yeah I guess…” Chris hadn’t thought too deeply on all the gay men in history who had fought for his modern rights. Perhaps he should’ve…

  “I mean without them we wouldn’t be two homosexuals doing homosexual things…” Pierre joked lightly.

  “And those homosexual things are rather enjoyable…” Chris flirted.

  “I thought we could grab a drink before the movie, it doesn’t start till eight…” Pierre turned the car into a car-park. The cinema was part of a complex of bars and a bowling alley.

  “I didn’t bring my ID,” Chris remarked jokingly.

  “Me neither, but I’m sure we can have a nice time without alcohol…” Pierre winked.

  Pierre parked the car and Chris found himself still smiling, had he stopped since climbing into the car? Good god, what dark magic did this little punk boy have?

  -------------------------

  “Favourite foods?” It was a rapid fire question as Pierre returned to the table with two orange and sodas. There was a clink of ice in Pierre’s glass, but Chris had deliberately declined any.

  “Erm… Risotto, a Sunday Roast English style… erm…” who knew such a simple question was difficult when put on the spot, “chocolate roll…”

  “What the fuck is chocolate roll?” Sometimes the French and English cultural barrier caught Chris unaware. Surely the French had chocolate roll…?

  “It’s like a chocolate sponge that’s wrapped with a layer of cream. Like a spiral…”

  “Oh!” Pierre finally understood what he was describing. He regarded Chris’ answers for a moment, they were as delightfully odd as he’d anticipated. His gaze softened and he laughed to himself.

  “What?”

  “Just… fucking chocolate Swiss roll? The posh English boy has a penchant for shit like that…?!” he laughed.

  “I’m not that posh,” Chris laughed. “I was in the third best boarding school and that’s an important distinction.”

  “I bet you like Jaffa Cakes and all sorts of trash don’t you?”

  “I do like Jaffa Cakes yes, but so what? Let me guess as a Frenchman you’ve got a taste for Escargot!”

  “I actually do like it,” Pierre bowed his head in defeat. They both laughed.

  “So what are your favourite foods…?” Chris prompted.

  “Well Escargot, Duck is always a winner… and a guilty pleasure is chocolate mousse.”

  “Chocolate mousse? And you criticised me!” Chris retorted in mock horror.

  “Alright, alright!”

  Chris took a sip of his drink, his eyes briefly leaving Pierre. He felt warm and fuzzy, like he’d sampled a narcotic.

  “Do you miss England?”

  “Sometimes… I kind of miss the rain. I mean everybody moans about the weather, but… I don’t know, it’s so… quintessentially English…”

  “Would you go back?”

  “I probably will one day, maybe when college is over…”

  There was a brief flash of pain in Pierre’s eyes and Chris noticed it. He suddenly felt like he’d said the wrong thing, “but who knows…? What about you? Any plans to travel?”

  “I might travel… might see England, if there’s something good to see.” the flirty tone was present again.

  “Well, I can recommend some good sights…” it was an outright lie, Chris had barely seen much of England beyond the walls of Callinghurst and various hotels in London. He’d never even visited Buckingham palace, which was probably a hugely unpatriotic admission.

  “Oh do share them with me sometime…” Pierre sounded incredibly suggestive and it stirred something in Chris’ loins.

  “So, what do you look for in a guy?” Pierre placed his straw in his mouth and the entire gesture seemed sexual to Chris suddenly. He coughed and tried to ignore the growing desire to strip naked and fuck him.

  “I don’t know…” he shrugged. It was an honest answer, he’d never considered the idea of searching for a guy and what he found attractive in a partner. He knew what he found sexually attractive, but maybe that didn’t correlate with what he needed from a partner. Chris had prostituted himself and never considered what he actually wanted from them beyond what purpose they served. He suddenly, and very acutely, realised that he had not a clue what he wanted of a man. Hell he’d never once wanted anybody in any capacity beyond what purpose they could serve.

  “I guess someone who excites me…” he answered. It was a shit answer, but it was the only one he had. He appraised Pierre sat before him, he wanted him but he didn’t really know why. He just felt drawn to him, like they were tethered together. He began to feel a little uncomfortable, why did Pierre make him feel like this?

  What even was this? Was this being attracted to someone? Was this… he couldn’t bring himself to think the L world. “What about you?”

  “Me? Well I kinda like the oddballs, the ones who aren’t like the others…” Was that a backhanded compliment? “I’d like to find someone to y’know, just share life with…”

  Share life with… again a new concept. Chris felt a knee-jerk reaction to reject it, to close down but he stopped himself. Sharing a life with, how domestic and quaint. How sickening and utterly nauseating. Yet, he glanced to Pierre and realised that he wouldn’t mind waking up to that face every morning.

  Fuck… He was falling for him. He’d only known the boy two weeks, but he just felt comfortable in his presence. It just felt… right.

  “So, tell me about yourself. Tell me about your parents…” P
ierre probed gently.

  It hit a nerve like a bullet from a gun. He managed to hide the flinch by stooping for a sip of his drink.

  “Both my parents are dead,” he answered flatly.

  “Shit, sorry I didn’t know…” Pierre cringed.

  “It’s okay, why would you?” a coldness had slid down Chris and Pierre noticed.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Their first.

  “Can I ask you something…?” It was Pierre.

  “Sure,” Chris permitted in a coolness that Pierre didn’t like.

  “If bought you chocolate Swiss roll would you forget I ever asked?”

  Chris felt a little smile flicker on his lips, he turned and saw Pierre offering the cutest face he could.

  “I think it’d sweeten the deal for sure…” Chris agreed letting the ice slide back a little.

  “Chris,” a new voice disturbed them. They both turned and was greeted by the width of Tom, or Dom. Chris hadn’t figured out which one was which. “For you,” he placed a note on the table. He then turned and walked out of the bar.

  Chris slowly turned to the note, he unfolded it. It had an instruction, “My place 2200.”

  He folded it back down with a sigh.

  “Are you involved with Samuel Le Bont?” Pierre looked serious.

  “To a degree,” Chris sighed. His good mood had taken something of a sharp downwards turn.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he wants me to join his little gang…”

  “But you said no right?”

  “Of course,”

  “You really don’t wanna get involved with his shit,” Pierre urged gently.

  “I know, and I’m not. I have zero interest in it…”

  “Good, cos he’s into some serious shit.”

  “I know Pierre, I know exactly what he does…”

  “So what does he want from you?”

  Chris sighed. “He wants me,”

  “As in sexually?!” Pierre recoiled.

  “No!” Chris shook his head, almost laughing at the idea, “he thinks I’d be a good recruit for his crew,”

  “Why?”

  “Because I guess I’m not like all the other boys…?”

  ---------------------------------------------------

  Chris hadn’t gone to Sam as instructed. In fact he’d stayed with Pierre until midnight. The date may have had a little bump in the road, but ultimately it hadn’t been spoiled. In fact, it had been lovely. That was part of the problem.

  The final straw was when Pierre had parked up outside Chris’ house, leant across and kissed him. The spark, and urgency to be naked, had overcome Chris to be the point he almost felt violated. His gut churned wildly and his mind was spinning faster than a hurricane as he entered into his house.

  Chris didn’t know how to process it, didn’t how to deal with the sudden influx of emotions toiling inside of him. This isn’t me, he thought. This isn’t me at all. He watched Pierre drive away, he felt a sudden pang in his gut that almost brought him to vomit.

  Why did he feel this way? Common sense told him he was falling for the boy, or perhaps already fallen. But this wasn’t who he was. He was this cold, devious calculated heartless bastard who expended people in pursuit of his own goals. This wasn’t him… Or if it was, then he didn’t want to be it.

  He felt weak.

  He was out of the door heading into the middle of the night before he realised. He was walking without a destination in mind, he was relying solely on his feet. His feet led him across the kerbs and tarmac of the sleepy town. Taking him nowhere but somewhere.

  This wasn’t him. This was someone else, someone else that betrayed everything he had once been. He felt an urge to cry, which was a sensation he hadn’t felt in such a long time. He couldn’t recall the last time he cried. He hadn’t cried when his mother died, or when he killed his father. He didn’t cry, because strong boys didn’t cry…

  He walked and walked; the world around him was desaturated and blurry as he went.

  Eventually the tears wouldn’t keep back, they seeped out of his eyes. They stung in the coolness of the night air.

  Fuck, why did he feel so miserable?

  When he’d decided to try and open up to the world, this was not what he wanted… Why did it hurt so? How did he make it stop?

  He wiped his eyes and realised he was in familiar territory. He suddenly knew exactly how he could make this emotional pain stop, how he could lock it down under lock and key. It was a lesson the young Chris had learnt long ago, the perfect way to shut off and lose yourself. He carried on walking till he reached the house.

  When he reached the house, he entered it via the back and headed for the locked basement door. He knocked thrice, firmly and assuredly. The wait felt over-extended and torturous, he paced a little.

  Impatiently he knocked again.

  He paced a little more.

  Then there was the sound of scraping on the other side.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me…” Chris heard the sound of crying in his voice and he knew he needed to remedy that.

  There was the sound of the bolt unlocking, and then Jon Clemmons opened the door.

  He had been woken from his sleep, his face contorted from the pillow.

  “What do you want?” Jon yawned. He’d checked his clock on the way up, he was surprised to see it was half twelve in the morning. He studied Chris who was dressed very smartly, but looked like he’d been crying.

  “Can I come in?” he enquired. The sound of crying was gone, he offered a little smile but it didn‘t diminish the wet shine in the boy‘s eyes. In the darkness of the neglected house, he looked something like a sexy demon clad in black who had just slithered out from the shadows. A darkness that called out to Jon, that made him feel beyond what he wanted. Someone he didn’t want to yearn for, but did all the same. A sexy demon who had stirred and upended him just when he wanted it least. Jon opened the door wider.

  CHAPTER TEN:

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jon offered as he padded to the kitchen. He removed two cans of beer. He wouldn’t have normally have given a minor a beer but he sensed the kid needed it.

  “Are you happy to see me then?” Chris enquired. He hovered near the dining table.

  “I am actually, I enjoyed the last time I saw you… Well, once I got over it…” Jon smiled warmly as he extended a can to Chris. “I did think that’d perhaps I’d betrayed Jason but… I can’t stop living just because he’s dead…” it was a sombre reflection.

  “Agreed,” Chris cracked open the can. It was lager, and a French brand at that. This would probably taste like shit, but right now he didn’t care. He wanted to escape his own mind for a while. He was aware that Pierre was pushing against one of the doors in his mind, threatening to break back into his consciousness. He wasn’t going to allow it, Chris had been so good at compartmentalising before, he could be just as good again…

  It did taste like a shit, but Chris gulped a quarter of it down anyway.

  “You okay? You look like you’ve been crying…?”

  Chris wiped his mouth instead of answering the question.

  “What’s wrong…?” Jon persisted.

  “It’s been a long evening…”

  Jon took the hint, he sipped at his own drink. He took a seat at the settee, he was dressed only in a dressing gown. It was the same shade of brown as the settee and for a moment he looked like he had blended into it.

  Chris followed him across, taking a seat next to him.

  “Why didn’t you run away?”

  “Where was there to go?”

  “Anywhere but here? You could’ve started over, been somebody else…”

  “But I didn’t want to be somebody else. I’m not ashamed of who I am… I loved Jason, even if the entire world hated me for it. I don’t give a fuck if they call me a paedophile… Like you said, the world just didn‘t understand…”

&n
bsp; Chris didn’t add to the conversation, instead he let his gaze drift off to the corner of the room. In the corner was a collection of holdalls, all stacked up like a totem pole to his former career.

  “I never even touched him before he was sixteen…” Chris was pretty sure that was a lie, but he couldn’t recall the specifics, “but I loved him. I never planned on it, who does?! A teacher falling for his student is the oldest cliché in the book… But love is love, it just happens. Makes no sense, fucks you up. And who the fuck is anyone to tell you that love is wrong…” Jon took a swig of beer.

  Even yourself? Chris wanted to say. He realised he was the only who was standing in his own way… He bowed his head.

  Slowly his attention drifted to the slice of thigh exposed under the dressing gown, then it led upwards to Jon’s face. His expression was unreadable.

  “But sometimes… I’ve realised, that it’s okay just to fuck.” Jon added gently. He offered a little smile. It dawned on Chris that Jon was a little drunk, this beer was not his first of the night.

  Chris took another chug of beer, then he deposited the can on the floor. He moved in, aware that he was throwing himself at Jon purely so he didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to reflect and he certainly didn’t have to search his soul. Chris had reached his limit, he’d had enough and right now he just wanted to turn all of it off.

  Jon’s breath tasted of beer in his mouth, that cheap shitty French beer.

  “Hello,” Jon purred as he grabbed Chris’ face. He sounded like an old lover, familiar and safe. The older man dropped the beer, uncaring that it fell and began to empty its contents onto the concrete floor. Chris swung his leg over and slid into a straddle. Instantly Jon’s hands were on his ass, a firm hand on each cheek. Their lips locked and rolled together, the taste of lager and desire exchanging numerously. Chris’ hands dove under the dressing gown and found the older guy’s nipples. They stiffened under his caress.