ark snapped a match and it exploded into a ball of yellow-orange-blue that glinted in the eyes of the blond boy standing next to him. The flame's reflection faded as Mark touched the match to his cigarette and inhaled. He looked over the blond's shoulder to the muscular bartender, then exhaled a fog of smoke over the younger man. "I fight," Mark said and grazed the boy's lips with his knuckles. "And I always win."

The boy reached out for a cig and Mark tossed him the half-empty pack. He lit another match and held it close to the blond's face, studied his soft features and his cow-like brown eyes. He lit the boy's bobbing cigarette and examined the mound in his faded jeans. "I never lose," he said to the boy's dick. Mark raised his eyes and locked onto the kid's face; inhaled his sweet breath, exhaled smoke.

"Ever kill anybody?" The brown eyes widened.

"Why?" Mark laughed and took a puff, funneled the smoke out through his teeth.

"Just curious," the boy mumbled.

"Want me to kill someone?" Mark placed his thick hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed until his soft face registered pain. "Kill you, maybe?"

"No!" The boy jumped back and slammed into the bar. He complained in a strained falsetto, "You wanna kill me, man?"

"Yes." Mark sipped his beer. He snubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and turned on the boy. "You kids are all the same. Gullible." Mark stepped away and scanned the bar for a real man to fuck, but it was going on last call and the pickings were meager. He returned to the blond, cupped him by the back of his head and pulled him up close. Mark ran his tongue over the boy's thick lips, parted them and licked the wholesome teeth below. "Nice," Mark approved.

The boy's brown eyes darted around the room, searched the faces of the other men in the bar, blinked thoughtfully in the muted light.

"They won't do it for you like I can." Mark slid the boy's angular body up against his own and nuzzled his neck. He groped the boy's ass through the well-worn denim. His cock itched for action.

The blond swallowed nervously and looked towards the door.

Mark breathed in his delicate ear. "Yeah, let's get out of here. I'm right up the street."

"I'm notta queer," the boy sputtered, but his hands dug deep into Mark's front pockets and fingered his cock into an erection. The kid tilted his innocent face up into Mark's and smiled peculiarly.

"I'm going to fuck you anyway," Mark said.

"What?" The kid's face pinched, then evened out. "Yeah, OK."

Mark dropped his hand onto the blond's shoulder. "Now," he ordered and maneuvered him to the door, but once outside, the boy vanished from his grip. Mark's hand clutched frigid air, then instinctively slapped his front pocket. Wallet, gone, "Fuck!"

 

e sprinted after the wiry pickpocket, pushing his body as fast as it would allow. Mark's heavy footsteps echoed along the deserted avenue as he pounded the sidewalk. They swept past his apartment and down into the industrial neighborhood beyond; graffitied metal doors and endless brick blurred past. A burning tear ripped into Mark's throat and he coughed and slowed to a stop. The boy leapt off the curb into the street. He held up Mark's faded leather wallet and spun around. His cow-eyes slitted down into narrow lines. "Gotcha, faggot!"

"Asshole," Mark panted from the curb. He bent over to catch his breath and watched the boy as he leapt around in a circle singing, "Old faggot fuck / ain't got no luck / with me and my..." The boy's foot dropped into a pothole, his leg twisted and sent him plummeting forward. He slammed into the pavement with a guttural exhalation. Mark jogged over to the boy who lay like a broken doll. "Man, shit, I think my ankle's broken," the blond cried.

"Not going anywhere now, are we?" Mark squatted down and picked up his wallet, then began to go through the boy's pockets. "Fucking homophobic thief," he muttered as he tugged out a wad of tens and twenties rolled together by a rubber band. Mark counted out $320 and shoved it into his own pocket. "Hey, man, that's mine!" The boy attempted to grab it, but Mark caught him and knelt into his back.

A car crawled past them and they both looked up into the blank face of the driver who viewed the scene with the indifference of a camera. The car sped up and squealed around the corner.

"We can't stay here, kid." Mark hauled the boy to his feet and marched him up the metal stairs to the sheltered loading dock. He forced the kid face down onto the oil- and piss-stained concrete platform, straddled him and yanked the leather jacket off his back.

Mark ran through the pockets and tossed the contents onto the ground: slips of paper, loose change, a St. Christopher's medallion. He encountered a hard, cylindrical object in the inner pocket of the leather jacket and tore the cheap lining pulling it out. Mark stared down at the black handle that bisected his palm, curved for the shape of his hand with four indentations to cradle each finger. He peeled the blade out, six inches of steel with a deep groove embedded along the edge. "This for me?" he asked the boy.

"Ambulance," the blond coughed. "Dying."

Mark turned the knife back and forth, gave a couple of playful stabs into the air. He lifted the boy's head up by a handful of spiky, blond hair and held the knife beneath his nose. "Any other weapons?"

"No, man, no." Mark dropped the boy's head and tossed the jacket into the corner by the metal door. "You got your wallet," the boy shouted. "Get the hell offa me and give me my money."

"You want your money, huh? Seems like you owe me a fuck, buddy." Mark slit the back of the boy's T-shirt with the knife, exposed a seam of pink flesh below the white cotton.

"Are you crazy?" The blond struggled to escape but Mark held him in check with his legs. He spun around and settled his weight on the boy's back and ripped the rest of the T-shirt through. "Gonna have us a party," he said as he sliced the faded denim. He cut a slit through the seat of the boy's jeans down to the crotch. The kid lay still as Mark parted the torn halves and exposed a field of white. He tore a hole in the briefs and ripped them with his fingers until the boy's hairless ass was open to him.

"Shit, man, don't fuck me. I'll call the cops."

"And tell them what?" Mark cut the briefs off the boy and rolled the fabric into a tight ball. "Open wide," he said and shoved it into the boy's mouth. The blond immediately spit them out and Mark threatened him with the knife as he replaced the cloth. The boy's eyes watered, but he closed his mouth and dropped his head to the concrete.

Mark unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. He took a condom out of his own jacket, rolled it on with his free hand and lubed it with spit. He lay on top of the boy and whispered in his ear, "You want your cash back?"

The kid shook his head. "Nuff," he said through the cloth. Mark pressed his dick against the boy's sphincter, which was tensed against him. He let his weight sink down until his cock popped up into the warm body beneath him. The boy's legs grew ridged and edged forward, then parted. "Done this before, huh?" Mark slid back out. The boy's hole relaxed as Mark sank into him again, deeper, and the boy raised his ass to accept him. The blond spit the briefs out and said, "Fuck me, faggot."

Mark felt dizzy with déjà vu: another street, another night years ago, three boys and a baseball bat, two weeks in the hospital. "Hey, faggot," the ringleader had started, "Wanna ride my Italian Stallion?" A rip of laughter and then they descended on him, all fists and feet and wood. He pictured their faces as if they were standing in front of him now, and he stared into their soulless eyes as he pounded into the boy, fucked him hard and angry. He was fucking them, the three boys and the thief, making them all pay.

He held the boy down with one hand and tensed his feet against the ground to reach as far up into him as possible, invaded the boy's body as his had been. He grunted with rage and heard the boy cry out beneath him as the knife dug into his skin. A line of beaded blood swelled on the kid's back and Mark stopped and closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was no one there but him and the blond.

Mark dropped the knife and grabbed the boy's midsection to raise him on all fours. He plowed into him, the kid's groans growing into a crescendo. Mark pulled out as he was cumming and yanked off the condom to shoot the last jet onto the boy's ass. The blond rolled onto his back and his dick swung into view. "Suck my cock, man, you owe me."

Mark stood and tossed the bills onto the boy's stomach. "Buy yourself some new pants," he said and zipped up.

"Hey, faggot. Come on, suck it." Mark hovered over the boy and watched as he jerked himself off, first slow, then frantic as he shot his wad over the bills fanned out over his tight stomach. The kid sat up immediately and scrambled the rolling tens and twenties together. He wiped his sticky cum onto the leg of his jeans. Mark jumped down to the sidewalk and the boy stood up, holding the cash in one hand, what was left of his jeans in the other. "You just gonna leave me here?"

"What, you want breakfast too?" Mark lit a cigarette and tossed the almost empty pack to the boy. "Here." The boy shoved the cash back into his pocket and bent over to get his jacket. Mark could see the dark pucker of his ass and it made him ready for another go, but he turned away and walked to the corner.

"You can't just leave me here," the boy shouted. "Where am I supposed to go with no fucking pants, huh?"

Mark stopped and exhaled an ocean of smoke into the frigid pre-dawn air. The kid scrambled down to the street and hobbled over to Mark, holding up his jeans. His leather jacket barely covered his pale ass and Mark dropped his hand and ran his finger over the slick crack. "I think we can arrange a trade," he said and tossed his cigarette butt onto the ground and snubbed it out with his boot.

 

<END>