Chapter 1

Drumsticks and Crashkits

Cymbals crashed and toppled to the floor as desperate fingers managed to grab onto the edge of the crash kit. Converse sneakers squealed against the stage before hitting a small roughed up stool; sending a thin body sprawling across the drum set.

A jagged grin crept across a thin heart shaped face as a small blond straddled the thighs of the younger man in front of him. He watched the fear in the boys face as he reached forward, past his head with one hand to grab a handful of orange hair. The other hand was out of sight-the eyes of the boy searched desperately for it, all the more frightened when he couldn't discern its location.

"Haven't we been over this before?" A sickly purr passed the dominant mans lips, growling in the back of his throat dangerously. "Haven't I been patient? Time and time again I've let you slip and slide. But," His voice snapped as a click of wood against wood broke between hushed words and heavy breathing. "This time, I think," His words were contemplative, calm in retaliation to the panic the man before him felt. "You've pissed me off one time too many."

He could practically feel the pulse of blood down the veins under his baggy pants, thrilled with the result of his threats. The tremble of the raggedy teenager beneath him who was at least a half foot taller than the blond, though also half as thin. His toned arm brought the sought after hand into sight, holding a drumstick in a way that made it seem more dangerous than any sharp weapon.

Bringing it up under the boys chin the blond grinned like a hyena with a maw dripping blood. His brilliant blue eyes never left the ginger kids face, watching the twitch of the corners of his mouth. The boys own eyes were locked on the drumstick, practically crossing trying to follow it. The blond pressed the drumstick up, tilting the boy's head up. "Do you have my money, or not?" He snapped his jaws, pearly white teeth bared.

The redhead shook his head and was rewarded with a chuckle.

"That's a real shame now, isn't it?" The drumstick traced along the redheads Adam's apple, to the curve of his collarbone. "I have quite a few people to pay off for our services." He hissed low, the cool wood riding along the bumps of bone down to a thin second hand band t-shirt. "I have supplies to buy," His voice grew more and more impatient, the pressure on the boys flesh increased. "And now I'm out a months worth of work."

By now the drumstick had meandered its way down to the waistband of the young man's pants. It slid along the edge causing his breath to catch and gag. "What am I going to have to do to instill the thought, the very, very simple knowledge," He growled. "That stiffing me is a very bad idea." The stick ran a centerline down the front of the ginger kids pants before jerking up to pop the button of the jeans.

The redhead had wedged himself up against the drum kit, trying to phase through it to find escape from the blonde. He whimpered as the drumstick pulled the zipper lower and shuddered with the jerk of the hand that still held his hair tight.

One of the cymbals toppled over the side of the stage onto the empty tarp covered floor below. The empty concert hall amplified the heavy breathing and pounding heart beats that tried to fill the silence. Aside from the stage there was only the floor and the rows of empty balcony seats.

"T-they're going to be let in soon." The redhead whispered, trying to squirm away from the man pinning down his legs. "They're-"

"Does it really look like I give a fuck?" He chuckled low under his breath, tracing the drumstick in a slow circle, applying more and more pressure until it became more uncomfortable than unwanted. This drew more and more unfortunate and strangled sounds from the redhead's throat.

He slipped the tip of the drumstick under the elastic and pried up the young mans boxers. With a squeak and kick, the leg under him raised, trying to throw him off. He laughed and shifted, staying aloft on his lap, blue eyes wide and wild. "Scared? You should be." His teeth were bared, lips pulled back past the gums. "You'll be sure to remember not to cross me."

A door at the far end of the room clicked open and shut, heightening the rushed sense of desperation. "Go ahead, scream for help," The blond leaned forward, angel bites glittering in the glowing pink spotlights. "You little fuck."

"Saint." A dull voice called as a slim body leaned against the stage, neon green eyes locking on the awkward position the pair was in. "Get off of him. We gotta split, bouncers are here."

"Fuck." The blond sat up straight, leaving the trembling redhead under his thighs. "Fine. Saved by your hired goons." Saint kept his lips pulled back in a scowl as he hopped off the redheads lap. He pointed the drumsticks at the man, shoulders pushed back standing as tall as his five-five frame would allow. "Watch your back little fuck." He turned, dropping his hand to his side, curling his hand into a fist around the stick.

"Get your ass in gear." The man who had interrupted Saint's lesson pushed off the stage, his fingers brushing the black horse mane mohawk out of his eyes. He moved towards a back exit marked by a glowing green sign.

Saint moved after him, pausing a step when he heard the converse squeal again, the man he had been tormenting had gotten to his feet. "One more thing," He purred, whirling around on his heel he brought the drumsticks around to crack against the man's face, sending the thin body tumbling to the floor. "Don't fuck with me again." He threw the drumsticks onto the thin raggedly breathing chest. "Or you'll get more than a welt."

He hopped lightly off the stage and swaggered after his companion, drifting into the streets, taking the jacket offered to him by the other man. "You should really learn to control you're temper."

"You should really know when to shut the fuck up." Saint snapped to the man, pushing his arm through the sleeves of his jacket. "We're not getting paid."

"I thought so."

Saint grit his teeth, moving through the dismally quiet street towards a dip and stairs that led into the underground bowels of the city. "That means you're not going to get paid."

"Also took that into consideration." The brilliant nearly neon green eyes of the man beside Saint rolled over in their sockets to lock on him. His thin face gave the illusion of being longer than it was when his jaw was slack, as it usually was. His tongue ran over his lips, sucking in sunken cheeks.

"Is there anything that you haven't taken into account?"

"Hm." He paused in consideration. "Where you were going to stick that drumstick. That was a surprise." His tone was sickly sweet, head weaving around to look at Saint with eel like grace.

"Aren't you witty."

"Why thank you, Saintly." He looked down at the blond, offering him a half grin.

"Don't call me that." Saint's tone was gruff, still put off by having to abandon his little red prey. His jaws snapped irritably as he grabbed the railing and hauled himself over the side onto the stairs, not bothering to go around the few steps it would have taken.

Ignatius followed him gracefully, landing behind him, playing follow the leader begrudgingly. "So, how are you going to repay me for this missed check?"

"Maybe I'll fuck you till you forget I owe you."

"I'll take cash." His black nailed hand flicked towards Saint to dismiss the previous threat.

"Get back to me when I have it." He hopped the turnstile, making his way towards the subway platforms. "I'm flat fucking broke." He ground his teeth, trying to figure out how to get through the next month without any money. He'd have to start asking for cash up front.

"You know, boss," The black maned man kept up with the blond easily, moving with more liquid grace than the latter possessed. "You seem to stiff me twice as much as you are stiffed." He reached out, long fingered hand closing around Saint's arm.

Said arm jerked and came back falling short to backhanding the man. "Don't. Touch me. Iggy." Saint growled low, threatening, his hair always standing on end with his counterpart around.

"Oh, touchy touchy, don't get your panties in a bunch." Iggy chuckled low, his shoulders hunching as he eyed the hand, having not so much as flinched. "Compose yourself and answer me."

"It wasn't a question." Saint, though reluctant to turn his back on Ignatius slipped towards the tracks and the gentle glow of the off purple lights.

"You know," Iggy paused by one of the many posters that plastered the wall-this one city sponsored, held behind plastic that was screwed tightly to the wall. "I've always thought this lovely bares a striking resemblance to you." He jerked his thumb in the direction of a tall slim blue eyed blond with a similar heart shaped face that stood provocatively, advertising a new fall collection for a brand that Saint had never heard of.

"M'no pansy model. He's got more estrogen than balls." He muttered, not taking kindly to being compared to the feminine young man in masculine yet excessively trendy clothes.

"I think you'd mesh well into the life of a pampered lap dog." Iggy purred, his hands hovering over Saint's shoulders, cautious not to put them down for fear of being thrown onto the tracks.

"Fuck that." Saint snapped, giving him a warning glare. "Dogs roll over to show their bellies to the first hand that dolls out a bone."

"Don't get righteous with me. You shake down hipsters so you can pay for your meals."

"Only when they won't pay up for something they've bought from me." His tone was sore. "It's money for a service."

"Tch. Sure."

Choosing the high road Saint ignored Iggy in favor of checking his watch. He swung around one of the poles onto the tracks, careful of his footing as he made his way into the tunnels. The smell of humanity and technology assaulted his senses, coming on strong.

Saint checked and rechecked his watch, knowing full well that if he misread the time even by five minutes he ran the risk of being smeared across the tracks. He listened to Iggy's footsteps fall light on the wood and debris behind him, keeping him on edge.

He paused a step and turned, grabbing the other man by the collar he hauled him around and shoved him in front to leave the way. "Fucking creeping me out." He muttered, brushing his hand off on his pants. The statement was met by a dull chuckle.

"Don't be scared of the boogey-man." The black haired man placed his boney hand on his chest, feigning hurt well enough to fool most anyone.

"Hades fears no one." Saint said through clenched teeth, giving Iggy another shove to get him going, feeling the need to hurry as he always did.

"Except Zeus." The voice sung ahead of him, Iggy had picked up his pace to disappear between the lights that were spaced between the tracks. Saint felt his chest tighten every time the other man slipped out of sight.

A fork in the tunnel came into sight. Saint found his tabs on Iggy growing fewer and farther between as he fell into his navigation of the tunnel. It was only when the grinning, leering face appeared from the shadows inches from his that he stumbled backwards.

Iggy's hands reached out and caught the front of Saint's shirt, pulling him upright. "Watch out there, Boss." He nearly groaned the words. "We wouldn't want you to fry, though I'm sure that's the only way to get your smile bright enough to light a room."

Saint's lips curled back in a snarl and ripped Iggy's hands from the front of his shirt when he had found his footing.

"Which was is it again, Boss?"

"Left." He hissed, unimpressed, the other man knew the route like the back of his hand. He was only doing this to mess with his head, and he was doing a fucking good job of it too. Saint sucked in a breath to steady his nerves, attempting to shake off the startled rush of blood through his ears.

The newly reinforced need to keep tabs on the other man kept Saint alert and on practically stepping on Iggy's heels, intent on not letting him slip out of sight again. He clenched his fists, pressing all thoughts of the lost time and money out of his head.

The rumble along the tracks sent Saint into a quick flurry of checking and rechecking his watch. "Fucking M train is early." He snapped at Iggy who looked back grinning and wide eyed, looking at the entire situation with the utmost amusement.

"What are you waiting for? Run!" Saint grabbed a handful of his shirt and shoved him forward, breaking into a desperate run as the tracks rumbled and the dust rose under their feet. Their steps fell carefully between the old wood and debris, one wrong move meaning precious seconds were eaten up.

Saint's eyes flickered along the track, looking for one of the platforms or dips in the wall that would offer them safety as the growling was met by a dim but growing light.

"Faster boss," The other man lazily slid along beside him, practically floating along the ground, dodging dangerously with feet on either side of the track, leaping from either side in a game similar to Russian roulette with the railing. "Wouldn't want you to get splattered."

"Worry about yourself." He growled and ducked his head lower, pressing his body to the limit, the light behind them growing brighter until it was near blinding.

Along with the blinding light came a deafening sound, the operators blasting the horn behind them when they spotted the two silhouettes darting on the track ahead.

Saint made a flying leap, grabbing the railing of a platform, in one fluid movement he tossed himself through the bars and onto the cement. He slid out of the way of the train, hearing Iggy's feet land beside him as he hit the wall. The wall of wind hit them and the train sailed past, leaving the both of them unharmed.

Saint pushed up, feeling the rush of just missing oblivion hit him. He grinned broadly and laughed. "Fucking rights." He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and the adrenaline course his system. He took the thin boney hand that was offered to him. Together, Saint and Iggy moved through the well-traversed tunnels into those that had long since been abandoned towards the makeshift home Saint had created for himself.

The camaraderie of survival would only last so long.