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"Why is everything we own utter shit?" I demanded, slapping the radio. For a moment, the static cleared, only to return with a blast of eardrum-splitting sound.

"Because we can't afford to be picky," Reaper answered absently, pulling up next to a gas pump.
"We should be rich and… affluent."

He snorted. "Those are essentially the same thing. This isn't a movie." He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it, handing me a twenty and a ten. "Fill it up."

I dug a pair of gloves out of my pockets and shoved them on before taking the money. I didn't need any more issues on top of my preexisting ones.

I climbed out as Reaper punched the power dial on the radio, turning it off. His lighter flicked as I headed into the gas station.

Looking around inside painted a bleak picture. The Arab cashier was yammering away on his cell phone, looking up infrequently. There was a fifteen-year-old girl wandering around in the candy section, her eyes darting to the cashier and back to the selection. An old man leaned up against the counter, reading a less-than-reputable magazine and smirking every few moments. His heart was racing. I could hear it. Even though I wasn't hungry, his pulse was intoxicating, making me salivate. I felt my gums itching—my teeth were lengthening in my mouth. I shook my head to clear it.

As I walked to the register, I heard a second heartbeat quickening—it was the girl's this time. The man was reading porn, but the girl must have slid a few sticks of gum into her pocket. Now that the cashier was distracted by me—"Thirty on pump number two," I rasped—she seized her moment.

The cash register popped open with a faint ding; the girl practically sprinted to the door behind me. Her heart pounded in my ears and I realized that if I could hear it, so could Reaper. A quick glance out the window showed him leaning against the driver's-side door, cigarette between his lips and eyes following the girl as her pace slowed; she was outside now, theoretically safe from being caught.

By the humans, at any rate.

Everything seemed to slow as I approached the car. Reaper dropped his cigarette and appeared next to the girl. He was hungry; he hadn't fed in days. I knew what he was planning. I drew out the pump from the holster, hit the button for unleaded, and watched as Reaper worked his magic. He leaned over her, his hand barely touching her shoulder, and she looked up—about the biggest mistake she could have made—right into his dark brown eyes. They'd made better girls than her melt. Better boys, too. He whispered something to her, her eyes still fixed on his, and she nodded slowly. He led her behind the gas station, where I knew what would happen next. The pump clicked as the total hit thirty dollars.

By the time he slid back into the driver's seat, I was leaned all the way back in the passenger's seat, gloves off and feet on the dashboard. "Comfortable?"

"A little," I said, opening one eye. "You got a little crazy on your face," I added.

He flipped the visor down and peered into the mirror. I wasn't lying—there were still a few drops of blood on his cheek. He wiped it off and licked his fingers. "She was terrified at the end." He grinned. "But she never ran away."

"Here." I handed him a stick of cinnamon gum. "Can't be smelling like death and decay tonight. Can we go now? I just wanna get this over with."

"But it's gonna be fun," he teased, flipping the visor back up and starting the car.

"Our definitions of 'fun' are wildly different."

"Okay, it's gonna be tolerable then. Will you not ruin this for me? I plan on making the most out of this evening."

"I'll do my best. If you need me, I'll be in the woods. Just fucking drive."

He pulled into traffic after making sure no one was coming. "Why do you insist on being so antisocial?"

I stared at him. "You know why. I don't like being around people."

"They're eighteen years old, tops. What kind of angst can possibly happen in their lives? Shit's changed since you were a kid, Spiro."

"Do you know how many teens with abusive parents live around here?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "But it's not only that. I'm also talking about the fucking drama that they seem to create over nothing. I'd rather just not even deal with it."

"That just makes them easier to control," he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Eyes on the road," I barked.

"But we could die if I don't. Don't you want to die?"

"I'm already dead."

"And so am I. What difference does it make?"

"Well—"

"And you're the one who's always bitching about how this life we have isn't the life you want. You're the one who wants it to end. You're the one who bitches about how unworthy we are of this—"

"Shut up!" I suddenly found myself with my hand around his throat, his smirk burning into my eyes, every cell in his body radiating cold amusement.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. "Did I hit a nerve?" His unnaturally white teeth, exposed by his grin, bore such a beautifully sharp contrast to his almost pitch-black skin that for a moment, I wondered why I'd try to kill him. I quickly pushed the thought out of my head; he'd put it there just to throw me off.

"You're right," I said quietly. "This isn't what I wanted. I wish I weren't this monster. But this is better than being dead. Really dead."

As I settled back into my seat, he kept that grin on his face. I swallowed my rage, but because it was my rage, I knew he felt it, too. "I know what this is about," he said after a few minutes of my silence.

"Now what are you on about?"

His grin widened. I wanted to punch it right off his fucking face. Hatred for him practically burned in my arteries. Then he slid his hand up my thigh, and even though he stopped just short of my cock, I was instantly hard. Fuck you! I screamed in my head, but now, in addition to the rage, there was arousal. I hated him for his easily he turned me on, and now I wanted to throw him into the backseat and fuck his brains out.

"You're tense 'cause we haven't fucked in weeks."

"Shut up," I panted. His hand was still on my thigh. "I fucking hate you."

"Who are you trying to convince?" He fed on my arousal and I knew he was getting hard, too. Entirely my fault. His voice roughened and it turned me on even more. "Me, or you?"

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Oh, God…"

It had been awhile since I out-and-out heard his voice in my head, not just an image or idea he'd put there. I tried to hold it together and even tried to turn myself off, not wanting to give him this power over me, but then I saw an image of him on his knees, his beautiful eyes staring straight into mine as he took my throbbing cock in his mouth, and I moaned audibly. "Stop," I begged. "Stop it. I can't…"

"Shit. Fuck. Stop it! Stop… Fuck you. Fuck you! Oh, fuck…"

His laughter sounded in my head.

I'd never realized I was attracted to men until I met him. Even though it had been years, nothing had changed—except our hair. When I first saw him, he was sitting on a stoop in San Francisco, a joint burning between his fingers and a spacey look on his face. Then we locked eyes, and I knew he wasn't high—he was just pretending to be. I knew immediately what he was, just as he knew what I was.

he thought to me.

I'd met others like him so his voice in my head didn't startle me, but I wasn't stupid enough to sit down next to him. "I just got here," I said.

"Where ya from, honey?"

"Chicago."

He grinned. "Barbados. Come on, sit next to me." His easy, inviting smile lowered my guard, but something else about him raised a red flag. He was dangerous, I could tell, but not in the typical way. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, even after he put his hand on the back of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. Then he took a long drag on his joint, pulled my head sharply toward his, pressed his lips to mine, and exhaled the smoke into my mouth. He knew it wasn't going to get me high, but the half-dozen or so others around us didn't know that. His tongue slipped into my mouth for a moment and I almost pulled back—I was a straight man being kissed by another man, one who I had just met a minute earlier, and I didn't even know his name—but something besides his hand behind my head kept me in place. When his lips left mine and his eyes opened, he laughed.

"You blush easy, sweetie," he said.

"I—I never—"

"You never kissed a boy before, right?"

"Y—yeah."

"You kissed girls, though."

"Well, yeah."

"Why not boys?"

I noticed that the others around us were starting to pay attention. "I didn't think I'd like it."

"But if you never tried it, how could you know for sure?"

"I thought that…y'know, since I'm a guy, I wouldn't like it."

"And did you like it?"

It was impossible to lie to those deep, dark eyes. "I loved it."

His grin widened. "Experimentation, sexy. Try it. You never know what you might love. You just gotta give it a chance."

"Tell it, Jupiter!" one of the girls behind us said.

"Your name's Jupiter?"

"Right now it is. It's 'cause I'm so out-there. What are you calling yourself today?"

"Patrick."

"Patrick? Is that the name The Man gave you?"

"Yeah." It wasn't, but that was the name I was going by at the time. I'd tell him my establishment name later, I decided.

"That's bullshit. You're Mars now. Ya like that, angel?"

"Yeah."

"So, ya just got into town, huh, Mars?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Got a place to stay yet?"

"No, but I was thinking about getting a room at the YMCA for awhile."

He shook his head, grinning. "Nah, baby, you can't get any privacy there." He stood up, tugging my hand to make me stand, too. "You're gonna stay with me. Come on, let's get you all set up."
I had to follow him. I didn't even want to resist him.

I don't know how long we walked, but before I knew it, we were climbing the stairs to his apartment and ducking through his door. There, the stoner-flower-child act dropped. "You couldn't stay at the Y, even if I let you."

"Why?"

"Are you fucking stupid? They're going to alert the cops if you keep leaving after sundown and staying in your room while the sun's up. Plus, half the rooms don't have fucking curtains over the windows. You'd die the first day." He turned toward the wall for a moment. "Fortunately, my place doesn't even have windows. I'm actually Reaper, by the way. Out there, you gotta call me Jupiter."

"I'm Spiro," I said, starting to look around. The walls were dingy, the kitchen was dirty and unused, save the sink, and the living area—if you could call it such—was in a shambles. There were only two doors besides the front one, and the ajar one led to the bathroom; I could only assume that the other led to his bedroom. "What are you doing, hanging around with those freaks?"

"They're trusting. Give them good dope and they'll give you anything you ask for. I got here three months ago, and when I first showed up, there were twice as many of them." He flashed his teeth at me. "Once they're all gone, I'm moving on to a different part of the city, but this is a great place. No one suspects a thing. Pretending to be one of them isn't all bad, though." Suddenly, he pressed me up against the closest wall and ran a finger down my neck. My skin tingled where he touched me. "Not all of it is for show," he breathed.

"What do you mean?" I could barely hear my own voice.

"I mean… I want to fuck you. Strike that. I'm going to fuck you. And you are going to like it."

"I don't have to—"

"You misunderstand me, Spiro. When I said, 'you're going to like it,' I didn't mean that you'll tolerate it because you have no choice. I meant that within a few moments, you will actually be enjoying what I'm doing to you, and want me to continue. Got it?"

My mind shut down temporarily as I nodded.

"Good. Get in that bedroom and lie down. I'll be there in a minute."

I couldn't help doing as I was told. My eyes stayed on him as he tossed something in the trash, came into the bedroom, and walked the floor for a few moments; then he met my eyes. "Ready?"

I still couldn't speak, so I nodded.

I was mesmerized by him. It was impossible not to get turned on by everything he did. He stripped us both, and for the first time before sex, I felt frightened and exposed. He was gentle as he kissed my chest, nibbled my neck, stroked my cock, but when he leaned back to slick his own cock with lube, I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was through taking it easy on me. Morbid curiosity, wondering how he'd feel inside me, was the only thing that stopped me from stopping him.

Now, though, we were used to each other. I bitterly hated that turning me on came so easily to him, but I had the same power over him, and he hated it just as much. "Come on, Spiro, don't be such a tease," he laughed, moving his hand higher up my thigh.

My hand flew out and smacked him. "Get off me," I growled.

His ever-present grin slipped a notch, but he put his hand back on the steering wheel, eyes forward again. "Perhaps later," he muttered.

Description

"Why is everything we own utter shit?" I demanded, slapping the radio. For a moment, the static cleared, only to return with a blast of eardrum-splitting sound.

"Because we can't afford to be picky," Reaper answered absently, pulling up next to a gas pump.
"We should be rich and… affluent."

He snorted. "Those are essentially the same thing. This isn't a movie." He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it, handing me a twenty and a ten. "Fill it up."

I dug a pair of gloves out of my pockets and shoved them on before taking the money. I didn't need any more issues on top of my preexisting ones.

I climbed out as Reaper punched the power dial on the radio, turning it off. His lighter flicked as I headed into the gas station.

Looking around inside painted a bleak picture. The Arab cashier was yammering away on his cell phone, looking up infrequently. There was a fifteen-year-old girl wandering around in the candy section, her eyes darting to the cashier and back to the selection. An old man leaned up against the counter, reading a less-than-reputable magazine and smirking every few moments. His heart was racing. I could hear it. Even though I wasn't hungry, his pulse was intoxicating, making me salivate. I felt my gums itching—my teeth were lengthening in my mouth. I shook my head to clear it.

As I walked to the register, I heard a second heartbeat quickening—it was the girl's this time. The man was reading porn, but the girl must have slid a few sticks of gum into her pocket. Now that the cashier was distracted by me—"Thirty on pump number two," I rasped—she seized her moment.

The cash register popped open with a faint ding; the girl practically sprinted to the door behind me. Her heart pounded in my ears and I realized that if I could hear it, so could Reaper. A quick glance out the window showed him leaning against the driver's-side door, cigarette between his lips and eyes following the girl as her pace slowed; she was outside now, theoretically safe from being caught.

By the humans, at any rate.

Everything seemed to slow as I approached the car. Reaper dropped his cigarette and appeared next to the girl. He was hungry; he hadn't fed in days. I knew what he was planning. I drew out the pump from the holster, hit the button for unleaded, and watched as Reaper worked his magic. He leaned over her, his hand barely touching her shoulder, and she looked up—about the biggest mistake she could have made—right into his dark brown eyes. They'd made better girls than her melt. Better boys, too. He whispered something to her, her eyes still fixed on his, and she nodded slowly. He led her behind the gas station, where I knew what would happen next. The pump clicked as the total hit thirty dollars.

By the time he slid back into the driver's seat, I was leaned all the way back in the passenger's seat, gloves off and feet on the dashboard. "Comfortable?"

"A little," I said, opening one eye. "You got a little crazy on your face," I added.

He flipped the visor down and peered into the mirror. I wasn't lying—there were still a few drops of blood on his cheek. He wiped it off and licked his fingers. "She was terrified at the end." He grinned. "But she never ran away."

"Here." I handed him a stick of cinnamon gum. "Can't be smelling like death and decay tonight. Can we go now? I just wanna get this over with."

"But it's gonna be fun," he teased, flipping the visor back up and starting the car.

"Our definitions of 'fun' are wildly different."

"Okay, it's gonna be tolerable then. Will you not ruin this for me? I plan on making the most out of this evening."

"I'll do my best. If you need me, I'll be in the woods. Just fucking drive."

He pulled into traffic after making sure no one was coming. "Why do you insist on being so antisocial?"

I stared at him. "You know why. I don't like being around people."

"They're eighteen years old, tops. What kind of angst can possibly happen in their lives? Shit's changed since you were a kid, Spiro."

"Do you know how many teens with abusive parents live around here?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "But it's not only that. I'm also talking about the fucking drama that they seem to create over nothing. I'd rather just not even deal with it."

"That just makes them easier to control," he said, leaning over to whisper into my ear. I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Eyes on the road," I barked.

"But we could die if I don't. Don't you want to die?"

"I'm already dead."

"And so am I. What difference does it make?"

"Well—"

"And you're the one who's always bitching about how this life we have isn't the life you want. You're the one who wants it to end. You're the one who bitches about how unworthy we are of this—"

"Shut up!" I suddenly found myself with my hand around his throat, his smirk burning into my eyes, every cell in his body radiating cold amusement.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly. "Did I hit a nerve?" His unnaturally white teeth, exposed by his grin, bore such a beautifully sharp contrast to his almost pitch-black skin that for a moment, I wondered why I'd try to kill him. I quickly pushed the thought out of my head; he'd put it there just to throw me off.

"You're right," I said quietly. "This isn't what I wanted. I wish I weren't this monster. But this is better than being dead. Really dead."

As I settled back into my seat, he kept that grin on his face. I swallowed my rage, but because it was my rage, I knew he felt it, too. "I know what this is about," he said after a few minutes of my silence.

"Now what are you on about?"

His grin widened. I wanted to punch it right off his fucking face. Hatred for him practically burned in my arteries. Then he slid his hand up my thigh, and even though he stopped just short of my cock, I was instantly hard. Fuck you! I screamed in my head, but now, in addition to the rage, there was arousal. I hated him for his easily he turned me on, and now I wanted to throw him into the backseat and fuck his brains out.

"You're tense 'cause we haven't fucked in weeks."

"Shut up," I panted. His hand was still on my thigh. "I fucking hate you."

"Who are you trying to convince?" He fed on my arousal and I knew he was getting hard, too. Entirely my fault. His voice roughened and it turned me on even more. "Me, or you?"

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Oh, God…"

It had been awhile since I out-and-out heard his voice in my head, not just an image or idea he'd put there. I tried to hold it together and even tried to turn myself off, not wanting to give him this power over me, but then I saw an image of him on his knees, his beautiful eyes staring straight into mine as he took my throbbing cock in his mouth, and I moaned audibly. "Stop," I begged. "Stop it. I can't…"

"Shit. Fuck. Stop it! Stop… Fuck you. Fuck you! Oh, fuck…"

His laughter sounded in my head.

I'd never realized I was attracted to men until I met him. Even though it had been years, nothing had changed—except our hair. When I first saw him, he was sitting on a stoop in San Francisco, a joint burning between his fingers and a spacey look on his face. Then we locked eyes, and I knew he wasn't high—he was just pretending to be. I knew immediately what he was, just as he knew what I was.

he thought to me.

I'd met others like him so his voice in my head didn't startle me, but I wasn't stupid enough to sit down next to him. "I just got here," I said.

"Where ya from, honey?"

"Chicago."

He grinned. "Barbados. Come on, sit next to me." His easy, inviting smile lowered my guard, but something else about him raised a red flag. He was dangerous, I could tell, but not in the typical way. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, even after he put his hand on the back of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. Then he took a long drag on his joint, pulled my head sharply toward his, pressed his lips to mine, and exhaled the smoke into my mouth. He knew it wasn't going to get me high, but the half-dozen or so others around us didn't know that. His tongue slipped into my mouth for a moment and I almost pulled back—I was a straight man being kissed by another man, one who I had just met a minute earlier, and I didn't even know his name—but something besides his hand behind my head kept me in place. When his lips left mine and his eyes opened, he laughed.

"You blush easy, sweetie," he said.

"I—I never—"

"You never kissed a boy before, right?"

"Y—yeah."

"You kissed girls, though."

"Well, yeah."

"Why not boys?"

I noticed that the others around us were starting to pay attention. "I didn't think I'd like it."

"But if you never tried it, how could you know for sure?"

"I thought that…y'know, since I'm a guy, I wouldn't like it."

"And did you like it?"

It was impossible to lie to those deep, dark eyes. "I loved it."

His grin widened. "Experimentation, sexy. Try it. You never know what you might love. You just gotta give it a chance."

"Tell it, Jupiter!" one of the girls behind us said.

"Your name's Jupiter?"

"Right now it is. It's 'cause I'm so out-there. What are you calling yourself today?"

"Patrick."

"Patrick? Is that the name The Man gave you?"

"Yeah." It wasn't, but that was the name I was going by at the time. I'd tell him my establishment name later, I decided.

"That's bullshit. You're Mars now. Ya like that, angel?"

"Yeah."

"So, ya just got into town, huh, Mars?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Got a place to stay yet?"

"No, but I was thinking about getting a room at the YMCA for awhile."

He shook his head, grinning. "Nah, baby, you can't get any privacy there." He stood up, tugging my hand to make me stand, too. "You're gonna stay with me. Come on, let's get you all set up."
I had to follow him. I didn't even want to resist him.

I don't know how long we walked, but before I knew it, we were climbing the stairs to his apartment and ducking through his door. There, the stoner-flower-child act dropped. "You couldn't stay at the Y, even if I let you."

"Why?"

"Are you fucking stupid? They're going to alert the cops if you keep leaving after sundown and staying in your room while the sun's up. Plus, half the rooms don't have fucking curtains over the windows. You'd die the first day." He turned toward the wall for a moment. "Fortunately, my place doesn't even have windows. I'm actually Reaper, by the way. Out there, you gotta call me Jupiter."

"I'm Spiro," I said, starting to look around. The walls were dingy, the kitchen was dirty and unused, save the sink, and the living area—if you could call it such—was in a shambles. There were only two doors besides the front one, and the ajar one led to the bathroom; I could only assume that the other led to his bedroom. "What are you doing, hanging around with those freaks?"

"They're trusting. Give them good dope and they'll give you anything you ask for. I got here three months ago, and when I first showed up, there were twice as many of them." He flashed his teeth at me. "Once they're all gone, I'm moving on to a different part of the city, but this is a great place. No one suspects a thing. Pretending to be one of them isn't all bad, though." Suddenly, he pressed me up against the closest wall and ran a finger down my neck. My skin tingled where he touched me. "Not all of it is for show," he breathed.

"What do you mean?" I could barely hear my own voice.

"I mean… I want to fuck you. Strike that. I'm going to fuck you. And you are going to like it."

"I don't have to—"

"You misunderstand me, Spiro. When I said, 'you're going to like it,' I didn't mean that you'll tolerate it because you have no choice. I meant that within a few moments, you will actually be enjoying what I'm doing to you, and want me to continue. Got it?"

My mind shut down temporarily as I nodded.

"Good. Get in that bedroom and lie down. I'll be there in a minute."

I couldn't help doing as I was told. My eyes stayed on him as he tossed something in the trash, came into the bedroom, and walked the floor for a few moments; then he met my eyes. "Ready?"

I still couldn't speak, so I nodded.

I was mesmerized by him. It was impossible not to get turned on by everything he did. He stripped us both, and for the first time before sex, I felt frightened and exposed. He was gentle as he kissed my chest, nibbled my neck, stroked my cock, but when he leaned back to slick his own cock with lube, I felt my breath catch in my throat. He was through taking it easy on me. Morbid curiosity, wondering how he'd feel inside me, was the only thing that stopped me from stopping him.

Now, though, we were used to each other. I bitterly hated that turning me on came so easily to him, but I had the same power over him, and he hated it just as much. "Come on, Spiro, don't be such a tease," he laughed, moving his hand higher up my thigh.

My hand flew out and smacked him. "Get off me," I growled.

His ever-present grin slipped a notch, but he put his hand back on the steering wheel, eyes forward again. "Perhaps later," he muttered.