A/N: This is just a short one-shot, but I think you’ll like it. These characters have absolutely no connection with the characters in ‘Dylan’s Shadows’. And now I’ve just redone it, fixed some mistakes and changed the format but no drastic things.

Warning: Flames will be dealt with harshly. Beware! This is rated R for a reason! It contains yaoi, rape, and abuse.

If you still feel like reading after all this, please enjoy and please review!

Wormy

Darren fought his way through the mass of sweaty, perfumed bodies, momentarily exhausted from his recent bout of dancing. All he wanted was a drink, to loose himself in the booze and wake up at closing time with his head on the bar. He shouldn’t have come to the club by himself, but he was desperate for some relief.

On all sides of him, there were men practically eating each other as they moved together, a painful reminder of what he’d just lost. Darren was too depressed to even appreciate the sight of scantily clad bodies all around.

He stumbled into a couple and hastily apologized, fleeing when he saw their angry glares, berating himself for being such a coward but knowing deep in his subconscious that he couldn’t change even if he wanted to. His mind flew back to the scene the night before.

“I can’t believe it. You lost your fucking job?” There was a hard kick to his ribs, causing him to curl into himself on the floor.

“I’m sorry! It wasn’t my fault, Todd! The guy’s hated me since I started!”

His head was jerked up, Todd’s hand fisting in his hair. “Don’t you talk like that about my friends! You’re an incompetent, complete fucking idiot! You son-of-a-bitch, do you really think it’s my job to earn money?” Darren gasped as his head came into connection with the unyielding wall, whimpering pathetically.

“Forget it, I’m leaving. You’re the most whiny, pathetic excuse for a girl I’ve ever seen. Barely even good for a fuck when you’re willing. You’ll never get a good boyfriend, Darren McNab, never.” To emphasize his point, Todd had thrown him harshly against the wall, giving him a parting kick in his stomach as he left.

Darren winced, fingering the large bruise that had formed over his navel. He’d spent most of the remaining night crying, wallowing in self-hatred, and had only gotten round to patching himself up that morning. Now he’d come to the local gay hotspot, desperate for an escape from all the pent up emotions.

He stared at the countertop, precariously perched on a rickety barstool, waiting until the bartender came over.

He wasn’t sure exactly what had attracted him to Todd. It could have been the safe, protective air he radiated in public, or it could have been the emotion that flamed in his eyes whenever the tall, sturdy man looked at Darren. At the time, he’d persuaded himself that it was love. Now he knew better. It had been the crazed, sadistic lust of a man that enjoyed breaking others, both physically and mentally.

It had been good the first few weeks; Todd had been kind and he’d been happily infatuated. The restrictions had crept up almost unnoticed, until the first time he came home from going out with his friends to find that Todd was livid. That was the first beating. The first rape came not much later.

Todd had been drunk. He’d come home to find Darren calmly watching TV, tired from a stressful day at work. He’d still resisted sometimes, then. He could hardly remember what it was like to resist now. An exhausted Darren had refused to sleep with Todd that particular night, in direct defiance to the lust-crazed and drunk man’s orders.

That night was engraved in his memory forever.

It had gotten progressively worse as the weeks passed. Eventually he didn’t have friends and had changed jobs to one where Todd could indirectly ‘watch him’ through his friend as Todd himself lounged around Darren’s apartment. His self-image had deteriorated, leaving him with only scraps of pride and ego, and a sick infatuation that he was still suffering from, six months after their relationship had started, and a day after it had ended.

And it had all led to him, sitting by himself, utterly alone yet surrounded by people.

He sighed, picking forlornly at a splinter of wood that had gotten loose.

“You look depressed,” a warm voice said from above him, “Need a drink?”

Darren glanced up at the bartender and just managed to stop himself from gaping. His first impression was of beautiful grey eyes twinkling down at him from under shaggy, dirty-blond hair. The anonymous bartender had one ear pierced, a simple silver loop; wore a typically white shirt, the top few buttons loose and sleeves rolled up in the pulsing heat of the club; and swamped Darren with his scent-a musky, earthy smell, mixed with a sweet tangyness. It reminded Darren of the way someone would smell after rolling in grass for a good while.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out, “lots of alcohol.” The drink appeared in front of his nose a minute later, and he immediately gulped it thirstily, fishing in his pocket for some spare change.

His thoughts immediately drifted back to Todd, their breakup, and what a pathetic, whiny girl he was. Yet, stuck in with the almost-suicidal thoughts was a faint picture of the bartender, smiling down at him kindly.

A few hours and a good many drinks later, he still wasn’t drunk. Groaning, he cursed his Irish ancestors who, though they hadn’t had the decency to grant him any good looks, had happily passed their amazing alcohol-tolerance level down to him. Combined with all the booze he’d had as a teen, it was enough to prevent his getting drunk easily. It was a blessing and a curse.

And, fishing in his pocket, he found to his fury that he didn’t have any more money to spend. Shit, shit, and shit. Damn his thrice-cursed life! What was the point?

He banged his head against the bar in exasperation. Hard. Frowning, he rubbed his aching forehead and sighed tiredly. He’d wasted time and money coming here.

“I can’t believe it,” a slightly familiar voice laughed, “You’re not drunk yet? Usually a couple of those do the trick real easy.”

“Irish,” he muttered, sulking.

“Ah. What’s got you so worked up?” The bartender took a seat across from him, perfect eyebrows creased in a frown. Darren noticed vaguely that there weren’t many people left in the club, but he was too focused on the entrancing being in front of him to really care.

“Broke up with my boyfriend.” His hand absently went to rub his stomach. He saw the other man glance at it slightly suspiciously, but he said nothing. Darren was suddenly self-conscious. He hugged his arms to his chest as he always did when he was upset or nervous, something Todd had found vastly amusing.

“Oh.”

“Six months.”

“What?” The bartender seemed confused.

“We were together six months. I tried, I really did, but it wasn’t enough for him . . .” . . . You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a girl! . . . He shuddered. Normally he wouldn’t have said this much to a total stranger, but who cared now?

“Then he’s a jerk.” Darren’s head snapped up and he stared at the man opposite him, perplexed.

“He’s a jerk if he doesn’t care that you at least tried,” he elaborated.

Darren didn’t believe him, but thought it best not to say anything.

The bartender stuck out his hand. “James.”

“Darren,” he replied, and shook it. There was a brief pause, during which they both looked at their hands, contemplating everything and nothing. And then:

“So, Darren, you said you were Irish . . .”

Their conversation carried on until closing time: several hours later. Darren felt as if he could tell James anything and everything, and that he’d understand. It was comforting, to have a friend again. Gradually, he’d lost his self-consciousness, opening up slightly to this man who had deigned to come down from his throne of beauty to talk to him, worthless scum. He’d even talked a little about Todd, at James’ prodding. The other man had been adamant in his contradictions of everything Darren had held to be true for almost six months, and it confused him. He was torn between believing and scoffing.

When Darren left the club at closing time, he could almost feel his attachment to Todd begin to fade, replaced with . . . James. It felt so good to have a friend! He wondered slightly that James would care to befriend him of all people, but he was grateful all the same. He’d enjoy it while he could, and if it ended up all a sick game, he’d only deserved it.

Darren found himself going to the club every night to talk to James. They became better and better friends during the weeks after that first day. Eventually, under the bartender’s gentle persuasion, his confidence started to return, and he soon forgot Todd-at least, during the day, though he purposely hadn’t told James about the nightmares . . .

He started looking for a job again: before Todd, he’d been a nurse at a local clinic, and taking night classes for a doctor’s degree. He enrolled again in classes for the next semester, and jobs were generally forthcoming in his line of work.

It got to the point where he woke up in the morning already looking forward to that evening, when he could go talk to his new best friend. James looked for him there too, and joked with him whenever he was off his regular time for coming.

But there was always the fear. James had managed to restore him to a semblance of what he’d been, but it was like a glass shattered and put back together: there were cracks and bits missing all over; he’d never be the same. So Darren’s seemingly happy world was still marred with the underlying angst and insecurity, the belief that he wasn’t good enough at anything, the wonderment that anyone should care about him. And the desperate need for a friend-for James.

It wasn’t until a little over a month after their first meeting that Darren realized exactly how much he needed the blond man.

He’d quickly learnt that the handsome bartender took Sunday nights off, but he’d been there every other night so far, and Darren was shocked and worried when he didn’t see his friend on a Tuesday. He waited for hours, and there was still no sign of him.

Darren had practically bitten off his nails with worry by the time he went home. There was fear coursing through his veins, and slight hurt at being ‘abandoned’, but the most influential emotion was certainly that he missed James, missed him with heart and soul, his whole being keening in desolation at only a day’s separation.

Reflecting on his feelings that night, Darren realized that he’d do anything for James, anything. He’d run and leap blindly, steel and kill, jump off innumerable bridges and skyscrapers for him, and-by far the scariest of them all-let himself be taken by him, willingly give himself up to James’ every whim.

The bartender wasn’t perfect, but he was perfection in his flaws: his stubbornness, the fierce way he looked after what was his, the way he always twisted a certain unruly lock of hair around his finger when he was thinking, his exaggerated sense of drama.

Darren knew it. It wasn’t infatuation, wasn’t anything like the way he’d felt for Todd or any other lover, though the willingness to give himself up and be dominated was there: it was a never-ending desire to be in James’ company, to share his life, delight in his shortcomings, laugh at his jokes, weep at his mistakes.

To love and be loved.

He went back the next night, anxious. His veins pounded adrenaline through his body from the anticipation alone, and when he stepped into the club and saw James working the bar his relief and joy were almost palpable. Darren was finally able to identify the sensations that made his heart speed up and put a grin on his face merely by seeing James. Love. None of the love poems he’d read, the romantic ‘sissy’ books, could ever get close to the complete and utter adoration he felt for this man, his surrender to his best friend in every way possible.

He stood at the door awhile, just watching him. The way he moved, graceful and reassuring; his broad smile; the way he glanced at his watch occasionally, a faintly worried line creasing his brow. Darren grinned. Oh, the joys of love.

He made his way to the bar slowly, relishing in the feelings coursing through his body, though in the back of his head the old feelings made themselves known, clamoring for attention: fear, nervousness, and a little self-loathing. He pushed them back and reigned in his smile, not wanting to appear as needy as he was.

James looked up, saw him, and grinned.

“Darren, my man! You almost had me worried!” It was impossible to contain his smile now.

“Missed you too, James. Coke, please.”

James grinned teasingly. “Now, young man, you know we don’t sell illegal drugs at this club.” As an afterthought, he added, “Though you might have better luck outside.”

Darren rolled his eyes, exasperated. “A coke, not coke, you prick. You know: liquid, sugary, ugly brown color and horrible for the teeth and waistline?”

James laughed. Oh, how Darren loved making him laugh, the warm, happy sound rolling over him in comforting waves. “I thought so.”

“Ah, so you are intelligent,” he joked. “Now can I get one, or do I have to report you to your boss for shirking clients?”

James feigned horror. “Oh, no, not that! Anything but that, please! I beg you!”

“Just get me the coke.”

James saluted. “Yes, sir, absolutely sir!”

Exactly 6 seconds later, Darren was drinking his calorie-bomb happily. When James got back from dealing with clients, he asked the question that had been on his mind since yesterday.

“Where were you yesterday? I looked for you.”

James smiled. “I had a job interview.” Darren was alarmed.

“You’re leaving?” It must have shown on his face, because James smiled reassuringly.

“Relax! It’s for weekends during the day, I’ll still be here.” Darren breathed out.

“So how’d it go?”

“Great! And I’ll be able to make enough money to finish college if I get the job . . .” He had a dreamy expression on his face. Josh had started college late, and he was in his fourth year of medical school. 23 to Darren’s 25. Beautiful to his drabness. Self-assured to his denial. Loved to his alone. James was everything.

He didn’t tell James about his love for him. How could he? James wouldn’t love him, not a chance.

And still, a week later, he was working up his courage to ask James out. Well, not really a date-there was a party planned at the clinic where he worked now, he’d forgotten why, but they were supposed to bring ‘a partner or a friend’.

Deep breath, in and out; concentrate Darren! The worst he can do is say no. Right?

“Hey James. How are ya?”

“Great! I’m feeling kinda jittery, you know? Giddy. Right. And don’t you even suggest that I’m high! I see that look!”

Darren held his hands up jokingly. “You know me too well.” He took a deep breath. “James?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re having some kind of party at the clinic on the 15th, and were supposed to bring a friend. You wanna come?” He held his breath.

James thought for a moment before a look of real regret crossed his face. “I’d like to come, really, but I can’t. It’s my girlfriend’s birthday the 15th and I’m spending it with her.”

Darren’s thoughts were unreadable, as was his expression. He battled with disappointment, pain, and the horrible realization that James had a girlfriend. He had a girlfriend . . . James was straight. Darren felt like crying, getting drunk, and then killing himself. In that order. “Oh.” He stared out at the melee of dancing bodies for a while. After a while, he voiced one of the millions of thoughts swirling around in his head.

“So what’s a straight guy doing working in the gayest club in town?” It was meant as a joke, but he knew it came out lame. He tried his best to school his features into a cool mask of uncaring.

James seemed to hesitate, not knowing if he’d hurt Darren or not. Finally he said, “It pays well, I guess, and it never really bothered me . . . So I though, ‘why not?’” Darren nodded, understanding. Mentally he berated himself for his stupidity. Of course James wouldn’t want to go to the party. He wasn’t good enough for him.

It nearly killed Darren to try to keep their conversation normal after that, but somehow he managed it without too many awkward pauses and without much pained staring into space. James noticed, of course, when it did happen, and vehemently asked him what was wrong, but Darren brushed it off. The poor guy had no clue that Darren’s depression was because of him.

Darren left early that day, going home to throw himself on his bed, where he cried out all the pain, grief and ruined hope. Sobs wracked his body and his slight frame shuddered with all the emotion, pent up for long hours and finally let free. He fell asleep fully clothed, curled up with his hands clutching the sheets, tears still trickling out from under his lashes. The perfect picture of a fallen angel.

He didn’t go to the club that day. It was his rare day off from work, which he was eternally grateful for, and he was free to spend the day alone with his emotions. He didn’t get out of bed. His appetite seemed to have vanished, along with his need to be clean or do something. He spent the majority of the day staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, occasionally shifting to focus his gaze somewhere else.

Nothing abated the storm of emotions rushing through him. They were impossible to describe, the deepest pits of despair and the pain of unrequited love. Love was no longer a joy to him, rather a burden, but he just couldn’t imagine living without it, without his James. It would have been a life without a point; he’d much rather love unreturned than be forced to live without his love. His. Because adoring the beautiful man made him a part of Darren, no matter if the object of his desires knew it or not. In loving James, he was whole.

He did go the next day, a Friday, but this time he wasn’t going just to talk to James. This time, he wanted to get laid. It was the best way of coping with his emotions that he knew. He could drown his sorrows momentarily in the burst of anonymous pleasure; try to forget James through the warmth of another body in his bed. He couldn’t get over him, couldn’t face the fact that his love would never be returned. So he tried to replace it, replace pleasure of the soul with pleasure of the body.

Darren waved vaguely to James when he got in, and immediately headed for the dance floor, not missing the slightly hurt, confused look the bartender shot him.

Darren let himself be lost in the dance, the pounding pulse of the beat through his body, letting his mind drift away as he moved in time with the other dancers, his world narrowing to the dance floor and the music and the dance. Eternally and happily forgetting himself in the dance, letting himself be swept up by the coordination of music and soul, his body a poor expression of what he felt. He danced out his emotions, danced the love and the pain and the grief until there seemed to be nothing left, only the dance, the all-important dance.

God is a DJ; Life is a dance floor; Love is a rhythm . . . the dance was him and he was the dance; natural, instinctive movements to the deepest rhythm there was; the most ancient, thorough expression of feelings mankind had found. He moved to the beat of his heart, of life, of love. And love was everything, binding the world together in its perpetual whirlwind of feelings. He was full of love and full of the world, full of the beat of life.

And he almost forgot.

He went to the bar when he started to feel thirsty, and immediately all the hopelessness came rushing back at him. He sagged under the weight. It had been so good, forgetting, that remembering crushed his heart with all the force of a steamroller.

He talked to his James for a while, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. Every word, every movement his love made reminded him of what could never be, and he was depressed and sullen. James noticed, and prodded, but Darren wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t burden him with the truth. He got up to dance again after little more than an hour of conversation that was more pained silence than anything else.

It was different that time. A burly, ruggedly handsome man came up to him and they danced together, movements that had been natural before now a sensual invitation. Darren smiled grimly to himself. He would get fucked by this man tonight, and a different one the next, and he could go back to being his sorry, only-good-for-a-fuck self. Whatever these men did to him, he deserved it, wasn’t worth any better.

The man bucked his hips against Darren’s, pressing them together in a bold invitation that left no question as to what he wanted. Darren nodded, and they left.

He didn’t notice James’ confused and lonely gaze following him out.

They’d barely gotten in the man’s car before he initiated a major grope-session, Darren getting aroused despite himself. When the man clambered into the back seat, lay down and forcefully guided Darren’s head to his crotch, Darren didn’t hesitate to oblige him. Crouching over him in the limited space the car provided, he unzipped the man’s cargo pants, pulling them down slightly. He’d learnt how to do this skillfully from Todd, who’d wanted nothing other than the best. Forcefully, he pushed the frowning image of James out of his mind.

Playfully, he nipped at the man’s arousal through his boxers. His anonymous bed partner moaned throatily. Darren carefully dragged down the man’s boxers, making sure to have them rub against his sex as much as possible. Another delightful gasp met his ears as the cool air of the car brushed the man’s erection, and fingers grasped the car seat desperately. Darren blew a breath of hot air across the head.

“What’s your name?” he purred throatily, forgetting himself in the familiar game of almost unwilling seduction. He traced a teasing finger around the base.

“David,” the man gasped out, fighting back a groan of pleasure.

Darren blew again. “I’m Darren.” He smiled at the reaction. Finally, he took the man into his mouth, employing all the tactics Todd had taught him, often with a smack around the head or on his ass if he didn’t get it right soon enough. But all of that was worth it to see David’s heated reactions to his sexy nibbling, licking, and stroking in between long sucks on his rod. Darren’s own arousal throbbed against his jeans, but he ignored it for the moment, focusing on the task at hand. He brought the man the pinnacle of release before pulling away and taking off his own pants and boxers. He knew what he wanted, and David knew it too.

Grinning hungrily, David pulled Darren on top of him for a bruising, forceful kiss, pushing a searching tongue down his waiting throat. David rolled them over and discarded the rest of his pants in the process, spreading Darren’s legs. Cock lubricated with Darren’s saliva, he pushed inside without preamble.

Darren couldn’t hold back a low scream, at which David grinned. He wasn’t used to this anymore, and David was big, filling him, pulling back and pumping harshly without regard for Darren’s pleasure. Like Todd. Darren shuddered at the thought and focused on the amazing sensation he got when David’s rod brushed his sensitive spot, moaning low in his throat. It would have been nicer had the sex been gentler, but this was all he was good for, after all. Being used.

He sobbed for breath as he released, David following soon after.

The bigger man pulled out and Darren lay still, panting.

“Oh, you can’t say you’re tired yet? We’ve only just started . . .”

Darren stumbled out of David’s house very early in the morning, pain shooting up his legs, yet he’d still managed to find some perverse pleasure in the intense domination David had had over him. He’d been rough, like Todd, and kinky. Darren shuddered with a mix of thrill and fear at the thought of all the playthings lying around David’s bedroom.

But now he felt dirty, used, a whore. Which, of course, he was, but knowing something and really feeling it are two different things.

But it had helped. During the brief time when he was trying to please David and get a little out of it himself, James had been just a lurking shadow at the back of his mind, instead of at the very front, occupying almost every thought. Even now, exhausted as he was, he couldn’t concentrate on what he’d never have. Just on getting home. It was the best he could do.

The nights progressed in almost exactly the same way for the next week and a half, the men he agreed to go with gradually getting rougher and rougher, the times he spoke to his James more and more depressing. He was dirty, a whore, good for nothing but being used as a piece of ass. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he deserved it, deserved it all for being worthless. Eventually he was practically getting raped each evening, gaining barely any pleasure from it, all his focus going to pleasuring the ones who had taken him away from the pain of rejection.

James got more and more worried every day and practically screamed at Darren to tell him what was going on, but Darren would just look at him, avec un air de chien battu, and mumble softly that it was nothing.

When the bartender had tried to put him off the increasingly scary men he went with, Darren had snapped at him to stay out of his life, it wasn’t his business, and then added softly that it was all he was good for anyway. When James started to protest, Darren just looked at him and walked off, guilt added to the pile of negative emotions heaped on his heart. One more to forget.

Exactly 9 nights after David, Darren was at the club as usual, though he was much later than normal. So late, in fact, that the club would be closed in little more than an hour.

That only gave him a little time to try to get laid, be used, abused even, if only it would help him forget everything. Each night, he found that it wasn’t enough, and each night he’d go with someone who radiated more danger, hoping beyond hope that someone would take the thoughts away, no matter how or when or where. All he needed was relief.

He stood by the door after dancing a while, waiting for someone interesting to come in. He still had bruises from the night before, and he was sore, but that didn’t matter. He purposely avoided James’ gaze, pretending not to see him, when in reality he was staring as much as he could. He couldn’t help it, the bartender was just too hot, too graceful, too . . . James. His James. No matter what anyone said. Always his. But he couldn’t face the pain of talking to him, not now. Maybe not ever. Always loving him from afar.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice a familiar form enter the dimly lit club. Stepping forward for a closer look, he gaped, emotions incredibly mixed. Todd.

He was exactly what Darren needed. His ex had been right all along, he was worthless, and he needed the blind pain only Todd could bring him to help him forget that he’d dared hope otherwise. He needed it. Another part of his mind knew it was wrong, recoiled from the thought of what the cruel man would certainly do, but it was overruled.

Darren stepped forward, put out a hand.

“Todd!” He had to yell, this close to the dance floor the noise was overpowering. He hadn’t seen James watching, and didn’t know that the bartender’s ears were so attuned to the noise of the club that he’d been overheard.

Todd turned around, leering.

“Well look who it is. Come back begging, have you? Couldn’t find a boyfriend after all? Or did you miss me? Me, or the pain you deserved so much? ‘Cause you know you did.”

Darren hung his head. It was true; he deserved it, all of it. The past nights had taught him that. And here he was, coming back like a rejected dog, begging to have his rightful place back. A small part of him was ashamed. The other part was desperate. Not for Todd, no, never for Todd. For the pain, the pain that enabled him to forget. And he knew his old boyfriend could give it to him, knew that the other men hadn’t been enough; he hadn’t forgotten James. But Todd was enough. Todd could make him forget.

“You were right,” he confessed. “I deserve it.” And in a half-hearted whisper, “I’m not good enough.”

“You finally see some sense. I’ll have to see if I take you back though.”

Darren looked up at him hopefully.

“I think maybe I’ll fuck you first, just to check if you’re any good. Still know your lessons.”

Darren nodded and cast his eyes down dutifully. Todd laughed.

“But first, I want to dance.”

Todd’s way of dancing was nothing like the natural movement he fell into when he danced alone. It was a forceful movement that reminded him of sex to music: Todd gyrated his hips into him painfully, and he could feel the man’s arousal pressed against his ass. Todd slipped a finger down Darren’s jeans and fingered him, making Darren gasp with surprise and mixed sensations. He was jerked around so they were ‘dancing’ facing each other, and Todd growled out,

“Stroke it, babe, and maybe I’ll really want you.” Obediently, Darren moved his hands down into Todd’s pants and fondled him into a full erection, his ex’s finger in his hole pressing him up against the other man powerfully. Todd moaned low in his throat and abruptly pulled away, dragging Darren towards the exit without a word. The nurse was relieved. He’d be able to forget, tonight. He would, and he’d do anything for Todd in return.

But his last glance into the club was at James.

Darren was limp against the wall of the alley, whimpering in the back of his throat. It had been exactly like he remembered, yet twice as bad; Todd seemed to be celebrating his victory over the younger man. It already hurt as bad as it had with the last man when they’d been done, and Todd hadn’t even taken him yet. And he would, several times, Darren was sure, despite the fact that he’d already released twice: once into Darren’s mouth and once into his hands.

The same small part of him that had been ashamed was now also disgusted, and kept flashing him images of how it could be with James. He pushed them away. All that mattered now was the pain.

And for the love of all that was holy, it hurt. He’d been beaten first, harshly, to arouse Todd and punish him. Darren was sure he’d have bruises almost everywhere. There was something sticky running steadily down the back of his head-blood from hitting the wall. He was already starting to feel light-headed. He was sure one of his ribs was broken, maybe two, from the pain in his torso whenever he moved or breathed.

There was also a searing, white-hot pain in his wrist from where Todd had twisted him around and pushed him against a crate, forcing his rod down Darren’s throat as he aimed for release, almost choking the smaller man. He’d had his arm broken when he was a boy, and he was pretty sure that it had felt like this. And there was more to come.

But it had helped. In his blurry state of mind, he remembered James as a vague, warm presence, and nothing more. It had helped. He’d found the cure.

“Stand up!” Darren struggled to obey, remembering the rules. If he followed the rules he could forget again. Todd grabbed him and forced him around, smacking his front up against the wall. Darren gave a small, pained noise despite himself.

“Shut up!” It was punctuated with another push closer to the wall, his cheek scraping the rough stone agonizingly. The small, rebellious part of him spoke up again. Did he deserve this? Did he really want it? James would have been kinder.

Darren shoved the thoughts aside angrily and focused on forgetting, using the torturing of his body to block everything out.

His pants were jerked roughly off, and he braced himself against the inhuman pain he knew would come. And come it did.

Todd’s throbbing sex was thrust inside him and he screamed, an agonizing, pain-filled scream. He couldn’t help himself, it hurt so badly, Todd hadn’t even bothered to spit on his hand and lubricate it. Just shoved himself up, ripping him, raping him. Because it was rape. When it hurt this much, Darren was fairly sure it was rape.

His scream was rewarded with a clout on the head and a string of curses. Todd had always talked dirty. His hips were lifted and brought down forcefully as Todd buried himself in Darren to the hilt, adding force to his thrusts. Darren had to bite his tongue until he drew blood to stop himself from screaming again. It was hard, and he couldn’t force back a pained whimper.

When he was forced down onto Todd exceptionally hard, his seams bursting and himself pushed into the wall to give the other man extra leverage, the excruciating agony of it caused his eyes to mist red before he gave one final, choked scream and passed out.

James

James sighed as he left. It wasn’t his turn to lock up that night, so he got to leave as soon as the club closed. The cool night air ghosting across his skin was a blessed relief from the pounding, hot air in the club.

He was worried about Darren. He’d been acting strange the last week or so, depressed, and it scared him. The smaller man hardly talked to him anymore, and aside from worrying James, it hurt. Was he not wanted anymore? Darren had quickly become the best friend he’d made in years, and he had a lurking, itching feeling that that wasn’t all. He wondered at Darren’s withdrawal, his silence, why on earth he was so unhappy . . . And why that made James miserable.

Darren’s self-confidence and sense of worth had dropped even lower than when he’d known him at first, that much was obvious from dropped hints and mumbled sentences. It infuriated him-he could kill the bastard who’d undermined Darren’s newfound confidence with his bare hands.

And then there were the men he left with. James’ fury rose to uncontrollable heights as he remembered the burly, lusty, sadistic men and the way Darren had meekly gone with them. He knew what was happening there, and it made him feel like roaring out his anger and defiance to the night sky. Instead, he clenched his hands into fists at his side, straining to control it.

And tonight…tonight he could have sworn he’d heard Darren call the other man ‘Todd’. That sick bastard who’d started all this in the first place, breaking Darren in both spirit and body. He knew the slight man had never really recovered, he could see the fear and uncertainty deep in those green eyes of his. And it enraged him to no end.

What was it that made him care what happened to Darren so? He’d found himself depending on his showing up at the club each evening, unaccountably happy when he saw the beautiful man walk in and smile at him. He was never bored when he spent time with Darren, their conversations thrilled him, and James often found himself having to push away strange desires, such as touching Darren’s cheek or stroking his hand. And oh, God, when he danced… Hell, he was even slightly jealous of the men that left with him.

Oh, no, he didn’t just think that. It was wrong. He was straight, damn it, straight!

. . . which of course explained why he knew, in some deep, hidden part of him, that what he had for Darren could last for all of time, break all barriers, and embrace his soul. But James was still in denial. No, he didn’t feel anything more for him than friendship . . . strong friendship, but nothing more.

That being established, he started on the task of calming his heart, which had started pounding frantically at the thought of Darren. Damn.

It was then that he heard the scream. And it was a voice he knew all too well.

Whirling around, James searched frantically for a sign of him, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he did so, almost unconsciously keying in 911 in case he needed it. He cursed himself.  Why hadn’t he stopped Darren from leaving with the guy? Running hurriedly in the direction he thought the scream had come from, he looked everywhere desperately, blood pounding with adrenaline and heart racing, focused on one goal: helping the one man that was worth it . . .

A stream of curses, so low he almost missed it, caused him to spin on his heel and go back the way he’d come. He heard a faint, muted whimper from across the street, and quickly crossed, not caring if there were cars coming or not. He turned right and passed in front of a dark alley just in time to hear a choked, desperate scream that tore his heart to pieces. Turning, he went in slightly, eyes keen and searching by the dim light of a streetlamp . . . and what he saw turned his blood to ice.

The man from the bar, Todd, was buried deep in a slack, unresponsive Darren, raping him for all he was worth, letting off disgusting, animalistic noises as he did so. James could tell that Darren had been beaten harshly, and he called the police without thinking, his message fast, confused, and livid.

No sooner had the call ended than he screamed, a fierce, primal cry of rage, and launched himself at Todd, who had been happily oblivious in his perverted pleasure. Darren was pulled from the brute’s grasp and laid carefully aside before the confused man had fully recovered from having and enraged man launched at him. He was just getting his bearings when James flew at him, tackling him to the ground and driving an unmerciful knee into his hardened crotch.

Todd’s face was a picture of anguish, and he let out one harsh, groaning sob before James, in his blind fury, punched him on the temple. The result was instantaneous unconsciousness.

Satisfied but still seething, James went over to his fallen friend. Oh, God, Darren. He looked horrible, blood on his bare thighs and head, bruises everywhere, and wrist at an unnatural angle, his face a mask of pain. James hadn’t known he was crying until he fell to his knees, sobbing softly, lifting Darren’s head into his lap gently. Carefully, he stroked the sweaty, blood-covered hair out of the man’s face, gazing at the broken beauty sadly. Gods, why him? Of all people, why Darren? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Fierce protectiveness, worry, and grief battled for his heart, and, looking at Darren’s battered face, he knew. At last, he knew, and sobbed at his own stupidity.

In the road, sirens blared and lights flashed, and he gently laid Darren’s head down to get the paramedics. They could help. It would be alright.

Darren

Darren was aware of the beeping first. A constant, annoyingly metallic sound that seemed to bore into his skull. He wished it would go away.

The next thing he felt was the warmth, and then the absence of pain. Then there was a warm voice gently talking to him, though he couldn’t make out the words. Only the low, comforting sound of speech. He knew that voice . . .

Carefully, struggling, he cracked his eyes open, blinking as he adjusted to the light that was splitting his skull in two. Blurry vision focused on the person next to him, and he was too tired to be surprised.

“James?” His voice was a weak croak, but it was something.

“Darren! Thank God you’re all right! I was so worried!” To Darren’s surprise, the younger man had tears in his eyes, and his free hand seemed to be entwined with James’. His other wrist was in a cast and . . . suddenly the memories came back, and he fought back the tears pressing behind his eyes. James had saved him. It would be all right, James was here and he cared. Sighing contentedly, too exhausted to care about anything more than that, he leaned back onto his pillows and closed his eyes briefly.

“Darren?” He turned his head to look at his love, managing a small smile. A hesitant pause, then, “Why did you do it? Why?” The warm, familiar voice was choked.

Darren looked away. There would be no more lies. James would know the truth. Somehow, lying in that sterile room with his senses dulled by painkillers, he felt that dealing with the absolute rejection could be no worse than what he’d already been through.

“Because I love you,” it came out in a choked rush, “but I wasn’t good enough and I needed to forget . . . but I couldn’t forget you. But the pain helped, I could focus on the pain and only the pain . . . and it was so much better than the agony inside.”

Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he refused to look at James. Now he knew the truth, knew the awful, awful truth, and if he walked out the door right now Darren wouldn’t blame him in the least. Though he would be miserable.

“Darren?” James’ only answer was a dry sob. “Darren, look at me. Please.” With excruciating slowness, Darren turned his head . . . and couldn’t believe what he saw in James’ eyes. “If you’d only told me sooner . . . I love you Darren, I really do. To think that I could have spared you all that pain, all that misery.” There was love in his eyes, and worry, and guilt.

Darren smiled brilliantly. “Y-you love me? But-but you’re straight. Your girlfriend . . .”

James grinned at him. “Forget about her, I’m bi now. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you not get drunk, Darren, it’s just taken me way too long to realize it. Forgive me?”

Darren fell into the twin grey pools that were looking at him so earnestly. “Of course,” he breathed, and James smiled, and kissed him.

Yes, everything would be alright.

A French phrase that means ‘like a kicked dog’.

No pun intended. J

A/N: OMG that is officially the longest thing I’ve ever written in one go! 18 pages; 7,485 words; 41,218 characters (including spaces); 206 paragraphs; and 779 lines.

I’m shocked at myself. Please review, and tell me if it was any good!

Luv

Wormy