Of the two, Mitch preferred Paul. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Paul had tried to get him to go away that night at the club, or because Paul didn’t want to take the drugs during the party, but either way, he felt like he could relax around Paul, he could let his guard down. There was no relaxing when Richard was around.

That afternoon Richard had come back upstairs and taken the cigarette away from Mitch, who had wanted to pout about it, but had been too busy nursing his bleeding lip because Richard had backhanded him again, this time for taking up such a disgusting habit. At least the codeine had already hit and he couldn’t really feel it. Richard had gotten on the computer for a while, and Mitch had tried to watch television, but he wanted to watch the news to see if they said anything else and Richard made him change the channel, threatening to put child locks on every station if he didn’t do it.

So, instead of the news, he watched Ccartoons, trying to lose himself in the witty humor of Ed, Edd, and Eddie. Richard didn’t seem to like that, either, but he didn’t make him change it, so Mitch curled up on the bed and tried to ignore his growling stomach. Two episodes later and the Grim Adventure of Billy and Mandy came on. Richard closed his lap top and leaned back, staring at the screen critically. "How can you watch this shite?"

Mitch shrugged, "It’s funny."

"I haven’t heard you laugh the entire time."

"I’m not really in the mood to laugh. It’s still funny, though."

Richard raised an eyebrow and came over, sitting on the bed next to him. Mitch made himself sit still as the actor checked his forehead. "You’re not running a fever." Mitch’s stomach let out a particularly loud growled and he pulled his knees up to his chest. Richard’s face lit up knowingly, "Oh, that’s it. You didn’t eat anything yesterday, did you?"

Hesitantly, Mitch shook his head.

"What you do want to eat?"

Mitch shrugged. He wasn’t really hungry. In fact, he felt as if he were going to be sick.

"Hm, how about pizza? You eat meat?"

"I..." He bit his lip, realizing that the thought of pizza really wasn’t as unappealing as he had first thought it was. His parents rarely ordered out. "I kind of like Canadian bacon and pineapple."

"Done!"

Richard grabbed his cell phone off the desk and stepped out the door to order the pizza. Mitch stood up and went to the computer, lifting the lid experimentally. He hadn’t really expected it to be on, but he’d hoped. Unfortunately, Richard was too careful, he’d logged off while Mitch wasn’t paying attention. Getting up, the boy went back to the bed and laid down again, making sure that he was in the same place, and then drew his knees back up to his chest. He’d just have to bide his time is all. Richard wasn’t perfect, he’d make a mistake. He had to.

The codeine was making him light headed and he blinked at the screen, trying to stay awake. Richard came back in and set the phone down, eyeing him on the bed thoughtfully. "You know, I don’t think you had a proper bath yesterday. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes, let’s get you cleaned up."

Despite his lethargy, or more likely because of it, he didn’t fight Richard and let him lead him into the bathroom, undress them both and then stood by complacently while Richard started the shower. The water felt weird, because he was having trouble feeling it properly. He knew it was hot, but he wasn’t really sure if it was too hot and he didn’t really care. Richard lathered him with his hands and as much as Mitch didn’t want him to touch him, he was too tired to pull away, even when one of the soapy fingers slid between his arse cheeks, massaging and then pushing into the abused entrance.

It probably stung, but Mitch only felt the mild discomfort of pressure and he keened a little, hoping that would deter the man from touching him more than he had to. The finger moved away and Richard stood up and gripped his hips, forcing him to turn around. Mitch put his head against the cool tile, forcing back tears as the soft pressure he’d felt earlier became the more intense pressure and stinging pain of a cock pushing into him. Richard hadn’t bothered to bugger him the night before, seemingly content with being sucked off, and Mitch was grateful to Paul for the codeine, because if it hurt this much with drugs, Mitch didn’t want to even imagine what it would have been like without them.

Richard put his hand over Mitch’s where they were clenched against the tile and slowly fucked him, moaning in an obscene way that reminded Mitch of the few sex scenes Richard had done with girls in his movies. Those were always about love, or intense passion and Mitch didn’t want to think that this was about anything other than someone using his body to get off, but he couldn’t help feeling ashamed when his cock started to react.

Logically, he knew what it was. Cynthia had always been a wealth of knowledge on sex, because her father kept books on it sitting around his apartment; books on how men and women had sex, books on how women could have sex with other women, and even a few on men having sex with men. Mitch had jokingly said the man was obsessed, but they had talked about all the things Cynthia read anyway, because it made them feel more adult. So, he knew that his body was reacting to pressure being applied to his prostate. He knew that was what Paul had done the night before and even though he couldn’t really feel it now, he knew that was what Richard was doing, but that didn’t make it any easier. Especially when Richard wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled him off. A few quick thrusts and Richard stilled, emptying himself inside Mitch, grunting and moaning lewdly.

Afterwards, he was careful to clean Mitch inside and out, touching him with soft, tentative hands like he was washing a lover or a willing partner. Mitch didn’t care. He wanted his pizza and he wanted to go to sleep so that he could forget everything, even if only for a few short hours.

*****

Mitch woke the next morning to find himself alone on the bed with a note in front of him and two pills. He looked at the pills and recognized them as more Tylenol 3, which was good, because the pain in his arse was so intense he felt nauseous. Taking the pills, he swallowed them dry and then picked up the note, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes so that he could read it.

                Mitch,

He sighed and put it back down, burying his head in the pillow while he waited for the pills to kick in. Richard had fucked him again before going to bed, holding Mitch’s face in the pillow to muffle his screaming, because the medicine was wearing off and he could feel every tug and tear inside his over sensitive arse. He knew he’d bled on the sheets again, had known when he’d been going to sleep and could feel the fluids leaking down his thighs.

When the first feelings of numbness began to spread, he pushed himself up and fought a wave of nausea until he was in front of the toilet. He’d just managed to choke up the last of his dinner and had fallen limply to the floor when he heard a key turn in the lock. Numbly, Mitch reached behind himself and flushed the toilet, letting the foul smell drain away as Paul came through the door. If he’d had the energy he would have tried to rush him, but his legs were weak, he was surprised he’d made it to the bathroom before collapsing. Besides, Paul was like Richard in that he was far too strong for Mitch to muscle his way past.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Paul looked over sharply and let out a curse word when he saw him, sitting on the bathroom floor. He rushed over and Mitch tried to push himself away, but his feet just slipped on the tile. Paul knelt down and looked at him, as if trying to find somewhere to touch him, or taking a catalogue of his body. Finally, he reached a hand out and touched Mitch’s cheek, where the two bruises from the previous day have nearly melded into one. "He hit you again, didn’t he?"

"For smoking." It was easier to talk to Paul, Paul exuded a calm concern and the more time he spent with him, the less he thought of Paul as insane as opposed to maybe just a little disturbed or confused.

Paul cringed, "We’ll have to keep that quiet from now on then, won’t we?"

Mitch started to smile, but his face hurt too much and it came out as more a lopsided grimace. "I’m supposed to have a bath."

"Did you get the pills?"

He nodded and stuck out his tongue flat, as if that proved something. Paul grinned, "Okay, then, why don’t I draw some bath water and..." He trailed off, looking down and Mitch followed his gaze to the smear of blood on the white tile under his arse.

"I’m sorry." Tile didn’t stain, did it?

Paul looked at him sharply, all traced of humor, forced or otherwise, gone. Without saying anything, he stood up and pulled out his cell phone, dialing his home number. He glanced over at the boy on the floor, waxen and shaking and appearing for all the world as if he didn’t know it. Oh, bloody hell, Richard had gone too far this time. He was just thankful that his father was a doctor or they’d all be screwed up an alley.

"Gerring residence."

"Father!" He took a breath, forcing himself to sound calm and stepping out of the bathroom in case Mitch got it in his head to scream. Not that he thought the kid was in any shape to try anything, but it was better to be safe. "The guys went out to the clubs the other night and Richard brought home a trick."

"You went with him, didn’t you?" Paul cringed, but didn’t respond, "I’ve told you before, I don’t like you hanging out with Richard. I don’t approve of the kinds of things he does. Every since primary school he has dragged you into..."

"I know, dad, I know. He’s a horrible influence, but I am twenty-seven." His father sighed and Paul took the moment of silence to re-gear the conversation. "Look, I didn’t call you to get yelled at. Richard brought home a trick and they got pretty rough last night. As in, the guy’s bleeding."

There was a pause on the other end and Paul bit his lip, hoping his father wouldn’t ask to see Mitch for an evaluation. "How badly?"

Paul glanced back in the restroom and saw Mitch still sitting on the floor where he had left him. He’d stopped shaking, which was a good sign. "He’s not gushing or anything, but he’s pale and he threw up."

"Give him some of your Tylenol and get some food into him. A warm bath couldn’t hurt, either. I’ll bring home some pills tonight, but no more roughhousing for a few days at least and, Paul?"

"Yes?"

"Next time they go out, you come home. One of these days, he’s going to do something that’ll land you all in jail."

"Sure thing, thanks."

Paul hung up the phone and set it on the desk, rubbing his temple for a few minutes. He’d have to yell at Richard later, right now he needed to get Mitch in the bath and get him scrubbed off, then see about filching some food from the main house. When he came back in the bathroom, the kid was still sitting on the floor, but with his head resting against the cool porcelain lid of the toilet. Mitch didn’t put up any kind of a fight over the bath, he let Paul help him in and then set about scrubbing himself with unsteady hands. As much as Paul wanted to just do it himself, he got the feeling that Mitch wouldn’t appreciate anyone touching him more than necessary. So instead, he sat back on the toilet seat and tried to think about what he was going to do.

He loved Richard like a brother, maybe more, but he hated what Richard did sometimes. Like the stupid drugs. Paul didn’t mind drinking, but he didn’t like doing drugs because they clouded his judgment and made him do stupid things - like fucking fifteen-year-old’s. Well, that and they made him a lot less weary of Tanner.

Tanner had had a crush on Paul since he joined them in grade school, following him around and trying to impress him with stupid stunts. Problem was that even back then Tanner was vicious. Impressing Paul was putting thumb tacks on the professor’s chair when she gave Paul a bad grade or finding a dead animal. Paul had taken an instant dislike to the psychotic boy that insisted on sitting next to him in class, but Richard hadn’t. Richard had liked Tanner, for whatever reason, and eventually Paul had given in, but then, he’d always given in where Richard was concerned.

He took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, trying to ignore the sound of sloshing water to his right and the fact that his hand was shaking. He took a deep breath of nicotine and stared at the tile, still caught up in reminiscing while Mitch lathered his hair, using his nails to scratch the soap into his scalp.

Tanner had been sent back to America just before third year - he’d been caught killing a squirrel by one of his nurse maids and after that, no one would watch him, so his parents were forced to send him to live with relatives in the states - and hadn’t returned until after they had graduated. Paul had been glad, it was just him and Richard again and if Richard had changed, he didn’t notice it. Sometime between then and when Tanner reappeared into their lives, Paul realized he liked Richard. He didn’t like any of the other boys, in fact, he had a great fondness for breasts overall, but Richard wasn’t like anyone Paul had ever known. For Richard, the rules never applied, he always got what he wanted, and he got away with everything he did without so much as a scratch on him.

In seventh year, Richard announced he was going to be an actor. Three months later he had a part in a stage drama. It had been a small role, but it was a starting point for him and soon he was getting offers from agents for representation and offers for other, bigger parts in high budget movies. For Richard, nothing was unattainable and no matter where he went, he always dragged Paul with him. He forced Paul into acting with him, sometimes smaller parts, sometimes as an extra, and a few leading rolls as a sidekick. Paul had always been in Richard’s shadow, always doing what Richard wanted, but he’d always been fine with that. He loved Richard, after all, so it was okay.

When Tanner had come back, Paul had hoped that Richard wouldn’t want to hang out with him, but when it was apparent that he did, Paul just hoped that Tanner’s crush on him had at the least abated. It hadn’t, if anything it had gotten stronger. Only now, Richard and Tanner wanted to experiment with drugs and Richard wanted Paul to do them too. If it had been anyone else asking him, Paul would have said no, but it was Richard, with his dazzling blue eyes and heart stopping grin and that one raised eyebrow that made it seem like he was begging.

Paul remembered the night so vividly, sitting on the floor in Richard’s room, when it was still in his parent’s house, trying to ignore the colors that were floating in front of his face. Tanner had started kissing his throat and he’d wanted to tell him to stop, but Richard had smiled at him and started rubbing himself through his pants and Paul couldn’t manage anything other than staring, not even when Tanner had started to suck him off.

He’d regretted it later, of course, but that hadn’t changed the fact that Tanner had finally gotten what he wanted and that Richard had liked watching it. There had been a time when they were doing one drug or another more than once a week and Paul had been afraid that they would fall into addiction or, worse, get caught. Instead, Richard found something better than his drugs. He found his boys.

"I’m done."

Paul nearly choked on the cigarette smoke, gasping as the unexpected voice interrupted his thoughts. Mitch was still sitting in the water, watching Paul apprehensively. The man had been sitting with a glazed expression for the past twenty minutes. He wondered if maybe it didn’t have to do with all the drugs he’d done. Maybe he’d been having a flashback or something. His father had said that sometimes happened with people who did LSD.

After a moment, Paul started, as if suddenly realizing something and stood up, getting a towel out from under the sink and tossing it to Mitch, who caught it before it hit the water. As he stood up, wrapping it around himself, he cringed at the pale red tint of the water. He didn’t think he was still bleeding that badly, but apparently, it had been enough. Paul noticed as well and scrunched his eyebrows. "Kid, are you still bleeding from the party?"

Mitch wanted to say ‘yes,’ maybe Paul would take him to a hospital and he’d have half a chance of getting home, but he didn’t have it in him to lie and the answer, "No," had slipped past his lips before he’d realized it.

Paul looked at him quizzically, "Why are you bleeding then?" Mitch blushed and understanding dawned on Paul’s face just before anger swept it away. "He fucked you again, didn’t he?"

Mitch nodded and Paul seethed, "How many times?"

With a shaking hand, Mitch held up two fingers and Paul cursed heavily, dropping his grip on Mitch’s shoulders and storming out into the room. For a second, Mitch thought Paul was angry at him. Why not, they were all insane anyway? Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had been asking for it.

"Richard, where the bloody hell are you?"

Mitch stepped into the room and saw Paul standing next to the bed, his back to the bathroom, holding his cell phone.

"The kid’s bleeding again, Richard. Yes, he ruined the bloody sheets, but that is not why I’m calling you. Richard, there are more important things than sheets, you’re a bloody millionaire living on your parent’s bloody estate, you can afford new sheets! This is about you keeping your sodding cock in your pants for five bloody minutes!" Mitch backed up a step, shocked. "You do damned well know what I mean. Two times, Richard? He’s bloody fifteen-years-old and you can’t keep your hands off him long enough to...?"

There was a long pause and Paul sighed, "No, Richard. No. I already did that, he said he’d give me something tonight, but you... Don’t start with me, I am bloody well pissed right now and you can... A week, at least, but..." The tension in Paul’s shoulder’s drained and he leaned forward, resting his head against the wall. "You promise, Richard? I still think you should take him home. No. In the end it is your decision, but he’s fift... I know I keep saying that, but it is a rather important point. Fine, if you promise and no more drugs until then. Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you when you get back."

Mitch felt his heart hammering in his chest. Paul wanted Richard to take him home. "Paul..."

Paul’s head jerked around and he shut his mouth quickly, unsure what to say anymore. It hadn’t sounded like Richard had agreed, but the fact that Paul didn’t want to keep him there... well, it was something and that was more than Mitch had thought he’d had up until then.

For a moment, Paul couldn’t think what to say either. Mitch’s eyes were wide and bright and shining in the light that was pouring in from the window. There was hope there and Paul couldn’t let it fester for too long. Richard wasn’t going to let Mitch go until he was ready, he’d made that abundantly clear. Giving the boy a tired smile, he held up the phone in surrender, "And that, my dear Mitch, is how Richard Carter gets away with murder."

The blood drained from the boy’s face, his eyes going wide and he swayed on his feet. Paul realized what he’d said and rushed over, apologizing as he helped Mitch onto the bed. "No, no, no, not like that. Come on, don’t faint." Mitch was practically hyperventilating. "Come on, breathe. It was a figure of speech, I hardly meant it like that. Richard’s never killed any of his boys. I promise." Paul felt the guilty voice in his head toning in that Richard had never hurt any of them before either. Duncan, Greg, Andrew, none of them had had so much as a scratch that wasn’t self inflicted and Mitch... he fought not to touch the split lip and bruised cheek.

"Please believe me?" Mitch looked at him finally, his pale hazel eyes once again full of hope. That was good, it meant he wanted to believe it. "There you go."

Paul forced a smile on his face, "The longest he’s kept anyone is three months, usually it’s less. You can handle three months, right?" Mitch sobbed a little, but nodded and sniffed, trying to gather himself. The color still hadn’t returned to his face, but he didn’t look as waxen. "I know it sounds like a long time, but it really isn’t. It’ll be over before you know it. Think of it as an early summer break, yeah?"

After several more shaky sobs, the boy appeared to get himself under control, though he refused to look up again. Paul heard him mumble something and bent forward, "Say again?"

"How many?"

"Oh." He sat back and thought, "Uh... seven, well, you’re eight. It’s about one a year, two this year, though." He refrained from saying that he thought it was getting worse, because he knew it was, but that wasn’t going to help Mitch any. What would help him was reassurance that everything was going to be okay. The calmer he was, the better Richard could handle him, because Richard, who had never been a very hormonal child, would not be able to handle a hysterical fifteen-year-old boy who thought he was facing his murderer every day.

Mitch bit his lip, still not looking up, "He let them all go?"

He breathing was almost normal now, thank god. "Yes, every single one. Duncan McGowan, he was a twenty-one year old art major at Saint Martin’s College, Richard was only twenty, but Duncan was much smaller. He let him go after only two months. Next was an American tourist named Greg, he kept him for nearly three months, let him cancel his plane tickets online and write a letter to his parents to say he was staying longer, so it wouldn’t look suspicious. But after that, he flew him home."

Mitch took a shaky breath, "Do you think he’d let me write a letter?"

Paul smirked. He was a smart kid, to have enough sense about him to think of that when he was still just getting over his hysterics. "Now, how would that look? ‘Dear Mum and Dad, I’ve shacked up with a bloke, so don’t bother looking for me.’ You’re fifteen, they’ll double their efforts." Mitch’s shoulder’s rose stiffly. "You’re not going anywhere for the next few months, so you might as well make the best of it."

Mitch pushed away as Paul sat on the bed next to him and finally looked up, sending seething looks at the other man. "The best of it? I’ve been kidnaped by a man who likes to throw rape parties for all his friends with me as the bloody center piece. Explain the bright side, I’m just dying to hear it."

Paul couldn’t hold back the chuckle at the unintentional pun and Mitch’s face flushed in anger. "Look, don’t get mad at me, okay? Richard said he’d lay off you for a week or more, whatever it took to let you heal up proper. He buys things over the internet for his boys. Give it a day or two and he’ll plug you in and let you buy anything you want - movies, games, clothes. Anything."

"So, I’m, what, his unwilling rent boy?"

"Pretty much." Paul continued to smile as Mitch looked at his knees and said something that sounded like ‘bloody fantastic.’ "The time’s going to fly by, Mitch, trust me."

*****

Cynthia sat in class, tapping her pen against her teeth and pointedly ignoring her Latin teacher. Mitch had been missing for two weeks and there was still no sign of him. There had been a myriad of useless tips from people who had seen him in London the night of his disappearance, and one or two that said they’d seen him in Humps a few times, but no one seemed to have seen who he went home with. Well, one person said he saw Mitch dancing with two men, one of whom kind of looked like that actor Richard Carter, but if that the best description he could give, it was useless.

The police had sent officers over to Humps to ask questions, but most of the people there were so drunk they couldn’t remember what they’d done in the past five minutes, let alone who they met two weeks ago. It was frustrating and to top it off, Ron had announced that the network was going to cut back coverage on Mitch’s disappearance to four days a week. He’d tried to get them to keep up the daily broadcasts, but his producers had said they had other things they needed to focus on.

She raised her hand and her Professor looked up, annoyed at having been cut off in mid sentence, "Yes, Ms. Reynolds?"

"I need to go to the loo."

He waved her off and she stood up, walking out of the room briskly. What she needed was a plan, because she couldn’t very well just sit back and do nothing. Mitch was her best friend and he would have looked for her. She marched into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror staring at herself. The blue in her hair was almost completely washed out, not to mention her roots were starting to show. With a sigh, she turned on the tap and splashed water on her face, letting the cold chill run down her spine.

As she closed her eyes and tried to think, two girls walked in, talking in hushed tones. "We can’t get in there, we aren’t even seventeen yet."

"We can, my sister knows a guy, he’ll get us fake..."

They stopped and Cynthia opened her eyes and saw them staring at her. This had been going on since the whole affair with Mitch. Everyone seemed to clam up in her presence, even professors let her leave or skip class entirely without saying anything. They were treating her like a fragile egg that was going to burst at any moment and why not? She really might just crack if she didn’t think of something soon. Shaking her head, she splashed more water on her face. "Don’t mind me."

They turned around to walk off, whispering to each other again, but this time with their voices too low for her to make out. They were probably talking about how unstable she was anyway. Stupid, stuck up prigs always horning their noses into things that weren’t any of their business in the first place. If they weren’t going to associate with her, the least they could do was ignore her presence and go about their conversation as if she wasn’t there. Their stupid, pointless conversation about going places they were too young to...

Then it hit her. "Hey, wait!"

*****

‘Lay off him’ apparently meant that Richard wouldn’t force him into anal intercourse, but there were a variety of other things that Mitch could do that didn’t involve have his arse penetrated - blow jobs, hand jobs, something Richard called frottage. He’d thought about complaining to Paul, because it was becoming more and more apparent that Paul didn’t know Richard as well as he thought he did, but the problem was that Mitch had gotten off on a lot of it and he felt strange complaining about something that had apparently, in some twisted way, felt good.

Currently, Richard was on the computer talking to someone and laughing occasionally and Mitch was laying in the pillows on the bed, watching a television series that Richard had bought for him called Dead Like Me. It was funny in a dark sort of way, but Mitch had been feeling sort of dark lately, so that was okay. A particularly boisterous laugh from the computer nearly made Mitch jump, but he just managed to reign himself in. God, he couldn’t concentrate on what was going on, he’d have to watch it again later.

So far Richard had bought him the entire Series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season One of Dead Like Me, and all of Roswell. He already owned the entire set of Queer as Folk, both the British and the American versions, but he’d said that if Mitch liked them, he could have them. He’d also ordered Mitch some basic clothing: A few pairs of boxers, t-shirts and some pyjama pants for him to wear around the room. He wouldn’t buy anything appropriate for outside the house, because he maintained that Mitch wasn’t going outside, therefore he didn’t need them.

The laptop snapped shut and Mitch’s eyes shifted to Richard, who had turned in his chair to watch him, "I have to go. My manager wants to meet so he can yell at me about the latest bad publicity. I’ll be back in a few."

Without another word, Richard grabbed his jacket off the chair and left, locking the door behind him. Holding his breath, Mitch listened for the sound of footsteps going down the stairs and then heard the rumble of the car starting. It softened to a purr and he followed it with his eyes, as if he could see through the floor as it backed out and down the drive. It wasn’t uncommon for Richard to leave suddenly and Mitch did occasionally wonder if it was really because he had something to do or if he just wanted to get out for a while. Not that it mattered, because it was at these times that he had the opportunity to watch the news.

They were talking about the weather and Mitch sat up, wrapping the quilts around himself protectively as he waited. Thirty minutes later, he turned off the television in shock. They hadn’t mentioned him. Not one word. For the past two weeks not a single day had gone by without at least a flash of his picture with the number and a word from Ron, but today they hadn’t said anything. This was worse than when they’d announced he’d been seen at Humps. Not that he’d been in the closet or anything, but he’d only ever told his closest friends that he was gay. Now all of Great Britain knew.

He frowned and felt his eyes watering. Were they giving up? They couldn’t, it had only been two weeks. He was still stuck in this place with that man that insisted on pretending they were lovers. He was still being raped almost daily and the thought that they weren’t even looking for him... He wiped the tears off his cheek with the back of his hand and turned the DVD player back on, not really watching what was going on.

His father wouldn’t give up, he just wouldn’t. An evil voice that sounded remarkably like Richard whispered in the back of his mind, ‘even if he found out you were gay?’ He shook his head to clear the thought. Why hadn’t he told his parents? Why hadn’t he just come clean? Now his parents knew he was gay and they probably thought he was a right little slut, considering he was going to Humps.

Sniffing, he felt his chin shake and buried his head in the pillows to cry. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be here, but it was his fault and maybe he deserved it. Maybe this was the price you paid for lying to the people who loved you the most.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid on the bed crying. It seemed that he was doing a lot of that lately, more than he ever had before and he wondered if that made him weak somehow. The lock clicked open and he looked up, watching as Paul came in the room and shut the door, keying in the alarm behind him.

Mitch sat up, hastily trying to wipe the traces of his tears from his face, even if he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Of all Richard’s friends, Paul was the most normal. He was also the one that Mitch had the most contact with. Since the party he hadn’t seen Tanner at all and had only seen Mickey and Louis once when they’d come to play games and discuss a movie Richard wanted them to be extras on, some action film or another about an Arab Czar. He had jokingly mentioned Mitch playing in the harem, ruffling the kid’s hair before turning away and going back to detailing what he knew of the project to his friends.

"Hey, Mitch, I brought you some stuff to cheer you up!" He stopped as he entered the room and Mitch saw that he was holding a large paper bag from the Gap. Its bottom was sagging, but Paul was holding it like it weighed nothing. The older man set down the bag and went to the bed, careful to sit a few feet away. "Have you been crying again?"

Mitch started to say no, but a hiccup caught the word and he shut his mouth. Paul chuckled and looked at his sideways. "What did Richard say this time?"

Numbly, Mitch shook his head. Compared to this, crying over something Richard had said seemed childish and stupid. "I..." Could he really tell Paul? If he did, would Paul tell Richard? Would he get into trouble for watching the news? "Nothing."

"Not nothing, come on. Did you do something you weren’t supposed to?" Mitch felt the blood drain from his face and Paul nodded, "I’m not your nanny, Mitch. I’m here to keep you company, not tattle on you. If Richard can’t figure out on his own when you’re doing something wrong, then he doesn’t deserve to know."

After several seconds thinking it over, Mitch sighed, "I was watching the news."

"Ah." Paul leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and looked at the television thoughtfully. "The anchorman said something, then?"

Mitch shook his head, "He didn’t say anything."

Paul felt his pulse start to race and closed his eyes, taking a controlling breath. This was good, right? It meant that Mitch would forget about rescue or escape and just sit back and try to make the best of the next few months, maybe even stop crying almost daily, but when Paul turned his head to tell Mitch just that, there was something in the desperation on the kid’s face that stopped him. He was only fifteen and he thought his family had abandoned him to his rapist. Oh, bugger.

"Come on, Mitch, you know them better than that. Your father is the chief of the Hertfordshire Home Office Police. He wouldn’t stop looking for you." Mitch’s face brightened, only a little, but it was something and Paul reached over, wrapping an arm around the kid and pulling him into a hug. "They’re looking for you. Just because they can’t say it on the news doesn’t mean they’ve stopped."

The tension in Mitch’s body made it feel like Paul was hugging a statue, but he didn’t let up, not until he felt some of that bleed away and the boy becoming more relaxed at the contact. "Now, do you want to see what I’ve brought you?"

He felt the boy nod into his chest and stood up, grabbing the bag from beside the door and bringing it over to the bed. "Remember the other day when you were complaining about getting behind in your school work?"

"Yeah." Mitch felt the smile creep onto his face as he imagined what Cynthia would say when she found out he had been complaining about not having homework. She might just die of shock.

"Well, my little brother’s a year ahead of you, so I snuck out his old school books for you." Paul pulled out five books, one at a time and set them all on Mitch’s lap. "There’s maths, English, Latin, chemistry, and one on art. I don’t know if you’re into art or not, but it’s something to pass the time."

Mitch stared down at them. They weren’t the same as his books, but they were something to read if he wanted to. Of course, he hadn’t yet, but he figured that eventually he’d get tired of watching television all day and now he had something to do otherwise. "Thank you."

Paul smiled and Mitch ducked his head shyly, "Don’t mention it. I also brought you these."

Mitch looked up and saw a pair of folded jeans in Paul’s arms. "What...?"

"I know, Richard usually makes you boys run around in night clothes all day. When he goes to take you home, he’ll make you put back on the clothes he picked you up in. Thing is... well, I just figured that seeing as your parents only recently found out you were even gay, you wouldn’t want to show up wearing bondage pants and a fish net shirt. Maybe that’s just me, but..."

He was cut off as Mitch hugged him. Paul didn’t move for a minute, just stared down in shock at the mussed up, sandy colored hair under his chin and pale arms wrapped around his chest. Finally, he managed to force himself to move and put his arms around Mitch. The boy looked up at him and Paul saw he was near crying again. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Paul tried to force out a laugh, but couldn’t. The pain and desperation in the kid’s face was heart stopping. It spoke volumes and Paul wondered how he could let this keep going for another few weeks, let alone months. "Don’t mention it. Let’s play some video games, okay?"

Mitch nodded happily and Paul saw him smile genuinely for the first time since that night at the club. He was struck by how mesmerizing it was. It made him want to kiss Mitch and that wasn’t good, because Mitch was only fifteen. You didn’t go around kissing fifteen-year-olds just because they smiled at you. Of course, you didn’t go around fucking them, either, but Paul had resolved that that wouldn’t happen again if he could help it. He’d just have to resist Richard next time he tried to get him to take drugs.