Paul groaned and turned over, burying his head in his pillow.

"Come on, I know you’re awake."

It was Richard again and he was probably just trying to get him out of bed so they could sneak out and rig pranks for old Professor Beirs again. "No, ‘m too tired, Richie. ‘ll do Beirs another night."

Richard chuckled deeply, too deeply. Richard had a higher voice than that, he sung bloody tenor in the choir. "It’s ten years too late to do Beirs, mate, besides, back then you didn’t swing that way, remember?"

Everything came back to him and Paul opened his eyes to find himself staring blearily at his best mate, "Ha, bloody ha. What time is it?"

"Nearly two in the morning." Paul looked at the clock and blinked it into focus. Sure enough, the time was rounding on two. "What were you two doing all day?"

Paul sat up, stretching and noticed that Mitch was still sound asleep beside him, curled into a ball with his back pressed firmly against the wall. "Video games, television, I even went over some of his math with him to see if I could help. He reminds me of Jeremy."

"You helped him with math?"

Paul shrugged, "I brought him some of Jeremy’s old school texts to keep him occupied. He’s dying of boredom in here, whether you see it or not. You do remember being fifteen, right?"

Richard stared at the sleeping boy on his bed for a moment longer before looking back. "Yeah, I do. Why don’t you stay the night? We’ve got to work out tomorrow and it’s late."

Paul nodded and watched as Richard shed his clothes. Overall, Paul could say he wasn’t gay. Well, he wasn’t any more gay than he was straight. He liked women, he liked breasts a lot, but for some reason he also liked Richard. He spared a glance at Mitch, who mumbled something in his sleep. He liked Mitch too, even if he didn’t care to admit it, and not in that brotherly sort of way like he’d told Richard. When he saw the way the kid cringed away from physical contact, he just wanted to take him in his arms and show him how good it could be, but there was Richard to consider.

He’d never felt anything for one of Richard’s boys before. He came over when Richard asked him to and sat and watched them do whatever they wanted to do. They in turn kept their distance from him. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement in that they didn’t starve and he got out of his house for a little while. Mitch was different. He hadn’t adapted as well, or as quickly as the others had. He cried a lot more, got angry quicker. He was more apt to go into boughts of melancholy, especially when left alone for more than a few minutes. Mitch needed him and that was... kind of nice.

"You all right?"

He looked back and saw Richard standing in the middle of the room, naked except for his underwear, his well developed muscles shining in the half light coming through the crack in the curtains. He was like some Herculean god and Paul felt his groin stirring. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Coming to bed?"

Richard winked at him and crawled in, pushing himself between Paul and Mitch and pressing his chest to Paul’s back. Paul felt breath on the back of his neck and closed his eyes as Richard threw an arm around him. If he tried hard, he could pretend it was just the two of them, but for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t want it to be.

*****

Paul woke in the morning on his side, bright light filtering in over his face, but that wasn’t what had woken him. What had woken him was the feeling of hands parting arse and a slick, familiar cock sliding effortlessly into him. He moaned in shock and pleasure, squeezing his eyes shut again to savor the rare sensation of Richard fucking him. It wasn’t often that Richard got in the mood for sex with Paul, because Paul didn’t like it rough and kinky, he liked it slow and languorous, he liked it to last a long time, and he liked it to be attached to a modicum of emotion. Richard generally like to take his pleasure and take it quickly, but every so often, when he got in the mood for something akin to making love, he would turn to Paul.

Paul closed his eyes and breathed in, moaning loudly as Richard sank the rest of the way inside him, his balls resting against Paul’s arse. Richard pulled out a fraction and pushed back in and Paul gasped a little. It had been quite a while since Richard had wanted to have sex and if it wasn’t Richard and if he wasn’t high, Paul rarely had sex with men. Of course, it was at times like this that he wondered why that was.

Richard moved in and out again, this time putting just a small amount of force behind it, not enough to hurt, but enough to get him deeper and Paul pushed his face into his pillow to muffle the undignified noises that he was making. For nearly ten minutes, Richard kept his pace, pulling out just enough so that the push back in was breathtaking and deep. Paul could feel his balls stirring and his cock was rock hard, aching to be touched. He’d given up trying not to make noise and was grunting lewdly.

He felt teeth on the back of his neck as Richard sucked and scraped the barest hints of teeth over the sensitive skin and his hand crept from Paul’s hip to his cock and began stroking. Paul reach behind his and grabbed Richard’s thigh, pulling him all the way in as he shot his load onto the bed in front of him, practically screaming in release.

Hot breath ghosted over his ear, "Roll onto your stomach, love."

Paul whimpered, but did as he was told, rolling over and turning his head towards the wall. This was what made Richard such a great lover, when he took his time, when he made absolutely sure that his partner got just as much out of the sex as he was getting, when he... Paul’s train of thought stopped as he saw Mitch, laying next to him, pressed against the wall, with a strange look of confused betrayal in his eyes. Shite.

Richard grunted heavily and came, spilling his seed deep inside Paul’s arse. Mitch looked away, his mouth set in a pout. Paul looked back at Richard and felt a spark of betrayal himself. Richard was staring at Mitch, a smug, satisfied grin plastered on his handsome face. Son of a bitch. Pushing up, Paul grit his teeth to keep from making noise as Richard rolled off and out of him.

When he looked back, it was like he could have imagined the whole thing. Mitch had turned his back to them again, staring at the wall in favor of the actor next to him and Richard’s gaze was on Paul, raking up and down his naked, ravished body and mussed hair. "Good morning, Paul."

Paul rolled his eyes and sighed, "What time is it?"

Richard chuckled and reached behind him, smacking Mitch’s arse half-heartedly through the sheets before getting up. "Nearly noon. We’d better take a shower and get out of here." He wrapped an arm around Paul from behind and bit the back of his shoulder playfully, "unless you want to go another round, that is?"

Paul shrugged off the arm and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. God, he was being such a child. Richard had never been the faithful sort, especially not to him, but there had always been a line. Paul had always been the one that Richard went to for help, the one he trusted, the one he came the closest to loving, because Paul didn’t really think Richard was capable of out-and-out love. At least, that was what he had thought, but something in the way he was looking at Mitch was predatory, like he was marking territory, only Paul was afraid that he wasn’t the territory.

*****

Mitch could ignore the dip in the mattress as Richard sat on it, but he couldn’t ignore the grip on his shoulder that gently turned him over. If he’d wanted to, he could have resisted, but what good would it have done? Richard was bigger than him, stronger, if he wanted Mitch to look at him, he could make him. The man’s eyes were alight, like he was when he thought something was incredibly funny and Mitch didn’t like the idea that he was the butt of the joke.

Richard leaned down and kissed him and Mitch could taste the slightly salty flavor of someone else’s sweat in his mouth. Paul’s sweat. "I told you, Mitchell-dear. I told you he’d love it, didn’t I?"

With a pout, Mitch looked past Richard at the ceiling, "Yeah."

Richard nuzzled his neck, licking his skin in what Mitch was almost sure was supposed to be a seductive manner. "He likes it when I fuck him and you will too." One of the Richard’s hands crept into his pyjama pants and Mitch shot up and scooted to the end of the bed. Richard didn’t try to stop him, just stared and smiled, like nothing was wrong.

The man was bloody well insane, especially if he thought Mitch would ever enjoy being touched by him. In an uncharacteristic show of defiance, Mitch stood up off the bed and glared down, "Go fuck yourself, Richie."

An ugly sneer creased his face and Richard was off the bed in a flash. Mitch had just managed to dodge a blow aimed at his face when the sound of the shower turning on filled the room and all movement stopped. As if coming back to himself, the sneer melted and Richard smiled, "Watch yourself, Mitchell-dear, Paul won’t always be here."

Richard went into the bathroom and Mitch shakily sat down on the floor next to the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. What the hell had made him do that? Maybe he was going insane as well. Mitch held his hand out in front of him and watched it shake for a moment before clenching it shut. He had to get it together, because sooner or later Richard would make a mistake and Mitch wanted to be sure he noticed it.

*****

3318#. Nothing. Mitch sighed in frustration and wrote the number on the piece of paper pressed against the wall. 3319#. Nothing. He wrote that one down as well. 33... footsteps. Quickly, he pressed the pound button again and ran over to the bed, sitting on the floor next to it and picking up the remote. He’d just managed to hit the play button when the door opened and Richard came in, his exercise satchel slung over his shoulder and a large bundle of mail in one hand.

The satchel fell to the floor beside the desk, but instead of sitting in the chair, which was his usual routine, Richard fell onto the bed, splaying his arms out and giving and exhausted moan. Mitch kept his head down, hoping that Richard wouldn’t notice as he slid the little piece of paper under the bed as far as he could.

One of the letters in Richard’s hand fell on the floor, hitting with a little thump against the carpet and Mitch just managed to stop himself from jumping. Richard, however, didn’t seem to notice it and sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I’ve just spent the last few hours listening to Paul bitch about the way I treat you."

Mitch went cold at the tension in Richard’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in return. Why did Paul have to go and voice his opinions to Richard? Why couldn’t he just go to the police or let him go?

"I just don’t get it." Richard let go of his own head and used the hand to pull Mitch’s head back by his hair and look him in the eyes. "He’s never shown interest in any of the others, what’s so special about you?"

Mitch bit his lip, his eyes huge with anticipation. He wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe to be hit, or for the hand in his hair to pull harder, but Richard wasn’t in the mood for abuse. He let go and sighed, scooting further back on the bed to look at his letters. Mitch went limp with relief. Paul was a touchy subject with Richard. He seemed secure in that he controlled the other man, but whenever Paul did anything that showed preferential treatment of Mitch, it put Richard in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

He clenched his shaking hands into fists and counted to ten, taking deep breaths. It was okay, he could handle this, at least he hadn’t been hit again or raped. Slowly, the tension unwound from his body and he opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the letter, still laying face up on the floor. It said England Revenue in the top corner and Wayne Guider in the center, the address was for a PO Box in... Sissinghurst? Wasn’t that in Kent? Who did Richard know in Kent and why was he getting their mail?

Picking up the envelope, Mitch turned around to hand it to Richard. "Who’s Wayne Guider?"

Richard looked up sharply, which was the only warning Mitch had before the back of a hand knocked him to the floor. He pushed himself up, holding his jaw while Richard took the letter from him. "Don’t ask stupid questions, Mitchell-dear."

He moved his jaw tentatively. God, that hurt, but he was probably lucky it wasn’t broken. Glancing up at Richard, he corrected himself, Richard knew his own strength, if Mitch’s jaw wasn’t broken, that was because he hadn’t wanted it to be. Oddly, Mitch felt like thanking him, because he didn’t think Richard would take him to a doctor, broken jaw or not. Instead, he went back to watching television, careful to keep the volume low as his assessment of Richard’s mood had apparently been correct in the first place.

It was the Christmas episode of Roswell, the one where Isabelle is the Christmas Nazi and Max saves the hospital full of children. It was only about two months to Christmas. Would he be home by then? He tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that kept pointing out he couldn’t be sure he was ever going home. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought the he would get to see his family again and that Richard didn’t intend to kill him.

Had his parents bought his the X-Box for Christmas like he wanted. Well, had wanted. He was beginning to think that if he ever got out of here he’d never touch another video game as long as he lived. Or a television. Maybe he could get them to agree to riding lessons instead, or ice skating, anything outside of the house. With a sigh, he let himself slip into thoughts of all the outdoors activities that he could do.

*****

"Jessie! You’re back!"

Mitch groggily opened his eyes and looked over at Richard, who was sitting at his computer, smiling at the cell phone that was propped up on its mount. A voice that Mitch didn’t recognize chuckled. "Yeah, took forever to get that account settled. Anthony tells me you’ve a new boy?"

It wasn’t often that Richard used the speaker phone, he seemed to prefer to keep his conversations quiet. Mitch wondered if he hadn’t realized he was awake yet and closed his eyes, just in case.

"I do indeed. He’s a spitfire, Jessie, I can’t wait for you to meet him."

"How about tonight?"

There was a pause. "Not tonight, I’ve got something planned for today. You doing anything tomorrow?"

"I took a few days off for Anthony. What time do you want us over there?"

"Eight o’clock and bring pizza."

Mitch opened one eye discretely as he heard the sound of the phone hanging up and saw Richard swivel his chair around to face him. "Hey, Mitchell-dear."

Shite. Mitch opened his other eye and sat up, trying to suppress the urge to stretch. Richard always ogled him when he stretched. Instead, he pulled the blankets up with him and covered himself, trying his best to look cold. At least Richard had left the fan on this time.

Richard smiled and reached behind him, closing the computer with a click. It wasn’t a loud click, but to Mitch it sounded like thunder, because when Richard closed his laptop without turning it off, it meant he wasn’t leaving the apartment, and if he was looking at Mitch when he did it, that meant he wanted to entertain himself with his unwilling partner.

Mitch shifted uncomfortably as Richard sat on the bed and sidled up to him. He hated this, he hated it. Richard put a hand on the side of his face and kissed him, working his tongue into the younger boy’s mouth languorously. Please make him stop, I can’t do it again. Mitch hated feeling weak, he hated knowing that even if he fought this, Richard would win, had won many times before. There wasn’t anything he could do.

A hand stole over Mitch’s face and down the side of his neck. It stroked his shoulder before slipping to the quilt and pulling it away to expose the shaking form under it. Mitch pulled away sharply, "Stop."

Richard responded by grabbing the back of him head and pulling him back up into the kiss, gripping his hair tightly. Mitch whimpered under the bruising lips. Sometimes he thought this was worse than the rape. Rape was supposed to be humiliating and degrading, but kissing... that was supposed to be about showing someone affection. Somehow, Richard managed to turn everything into a show of dominance, from sex to going to the loo.

The hand that had been resting on Mitch’s shoulder moved forward and down, slowly traversing over Mitch’s shaking chest, over his quivering abdomen and came to rest on the hem of his pyjama’s. Even though he knew what was coming, even though he knew how useless fighting it was, Mitch couldn’t help himself. He reached down and tried to pull Richard’s hand away from him, away from that part of him.

Richard moaned and let go of his hair, ripping his mouth away from Mitch’s, looking at him with a feral grin. "Please, Richard. Please?"

His wrists were grabbed and Richard forced him onto his back, settling himself between Mitch’s legs. "You look so pretty when you beg."

"No!" He tried to wrestle free his hands, but Richard pinned them to the bed on either side of his head and started kissing down the side of his neck, ignoring his struggles. Finally, Mitch managed to force himself to lay still, just praying that Richard would hurry and get it over with.

Richard chuckled against his neck. "You smell good. Maybe I do understand why Paul likes you so much. You feel so helpless. He always was a sucker for wounded animals." Mitch scowled and pressed the flats of his feet onto the bed, trying to push up to dislodged the actor. He only succeeded in grinding their hips together. "Now, now, no need to take offense, Mitchell-dear. Remember when I told you that you’d like it? You will."

Oh, god. Mitch frantically tried to pull his hands away, to buck Richard off him, anything to stop this, but it wasn’t going to stop and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes at the realization that, yet again, there was nothing he could do.

Richard moved his arms so that they were above his head and shifted his grip to hold both of Mitch’s wrists in one of his hands. Getting onto his knees, he reached behind the bed, searching for something between the wall and the mattress. Mitch was trying to get a leg over Richard’s and bent his head back to see what Richard was doing. He froze when Richard’s hand came up holding a length of rope.

As he watched, the actor pulled until the end of the rope came up and then started to wind it around Mitch’s wrists. With a disbelieving cry, Mitch doubled his efforts for freedom. He kicked Richard’s feet, he tried to hammer at the back of his thighs, anything to make the task of tying him up more difficult, to get him to slip up and relax his grip, for even a second, but when Richard finally did let go it was because he was finished.

Mitch pulled at the restraint, but there wasn’t any give and the short length didn’t even allow him to lift his hands more that an inch or two off the bed. Richard sat back on his knees and smiled, as if it was all a game. "Just relax."

Relax? Mitch tried to pull his leg in so that he could kick Richard, he wasn’t even sure where really, because the face seemed like an appealing option, but the groin would probably do more damage. Richard put a hand on his knees and forced his legs to remain where they were, draped over the man’s thighs. "I said relax. That can be achieved one of two way, Mitchell-dear, willingly, or I can get the drugs. Your choice."

The blood drained from Mitch’s face and he felt himself go limp from fear. He didn’t want to be drugged again, he didn’t. Even the idea of taking the Tylenol was terrifying, because it made it hard for him to think. Richard relaxed his grip on Mitch’s knees and leaned over, kissing his slack lips. "Better."

Mitch closed his eyes as Richard started to untie the drawstring to his pyjama bottoms and pulled them and his underwear off. He closed his eyes tighter when Richard put his hands under Mitch’s knees and forced them up higher, wider. A wet finger probed him and pushed in and Mitch keened softly. Without the effects of the drugs making him pliable, it was uncomfortable, intrusive.

After a minute, a second finger pushed in. That hurt. He pressed down with his feet, trying to push away, but Richard put a hand on his thigh, stopping the movement. Pushing up his shirt, Richard tongued his navel, leaving a wet trail up to his nipples before biting them softly, rolling the tiny nubs between his teeth, smiling into his chest. He teethed and sucking it until it was swollen and then flicking it with his tongue. "Have you ever thought about getting a piercing?"

He groaned helplessly as Richard moved onto the other nipple. "It would look sexy on you, with your small build."

Mitch wanted to tell him where he could shove his ideas of what was sexy, but Richard introduced a third finger into his arse and he became quite unable to think of anything other than the searing, stretching pain in his backside. It hurt, a lot, and he couldn’t stop the whimpers that fell from his mouth as Richard moved the fingers. Unfortunately, the more Richard moved, the more a certain part of Mitch’s body seemed to take an interest in it and, despite the intense, stinging pain, it wasn’t long before his cock was achingly hard. Leaning forward just a little further, Richard kissed him, swirling his tongue around Mitch’s mouth and ignoring the fact that his partner was unresponsive.

After nearly a full minute of deep snogging, Richard pulled away, his face slightly flushed with arousal and pulled his finger out. Mitch cried out once before he managed to close his throat. He hated himself. He hated that he was so weak that he couldn’t hide his pain. He hated that while he watched Richard undoing the buttons of his shirt and slipping it off his broad shoulders, Mitch’s cock seemed to think this was a fabulous thing, while inside, his stomach was clenching in fear.

Richard stood to remove his trousers and Mitch looked up, frantically tugging at the bonds around his wrists. This was even worse than being held down. At least then he could see the strain in Richard’s face as the larger man tried to keep him in place, but the rope was entirely unforgiving and it rubbed against his wrists, reminded him that even if he could fight Richard off somehow, it would keep him there until the actor recovered.

The bed dipped and Mitch looked down to see Richard hovering over him, looking at him intently. Mitch shook his head minutely in protest, because it was the only thing he could do, as Richard set a small bottle on the bed beside him and crawled forward, forcing Mitch’s thighs open with his hands and knees. "Please?"

Richard reached for the bottle and thumbed it open, ignoring Mitch entirely as he spread clear fluid over his hard cock. Mitch closed his eyes as he felt hands grab the undersides of his knees and forced his legs to fold over and up. "Mitchell-dear, open your eyes."

Mitch dragged his eyes open, looking at Richard, who was hovering over him. He felt so vulnerable with his legs over Richard’s shoulders and his arse lifted off the bed, presenting itself to Richard’s hard, slicked cock. Mitch gripped the rope in his hands, desperate for something to brace himself with as he felt the head of that cock against his pucker.

Richard, slowly pressed into him. The pressure built uncomfortably until the head of his cock popped past the resistance. Mitch cried out from the suddenness of the tearing pain. Every other time this had been done to him, he’d been under the influence of some kind of drug, but not this time. This time there was nothing dulling his senses and he couldn’t stop himself from begging, "Stop! Take it out, please! Please, stop!" Richard eased his way in slowly, not stopping until he was fully seated in the boy’s arse.

Richard stared down at him, holding his eye contact determinedly and undulated his hips, earning a sob from Mitch, "God, you’re so tight."

As slowly as he had entered, Richard started to move, rocking back and forth and Mitch closed eyes, fighting the urge to outright cry. "Richard, please. Please, it hurts." Richard ignored him and pulled out an inch, pushed back in sharply. The angle of the shallow, upward thrusts caused Richard’s cock to brush against his prostate, making stars go off in his head, despite the agonizing pain of having his arse torn open.

Richard leaned down and kissed him, working his tongue around Mitch’s mouth as he continued to move, lengthening his thrusts. Mitch felt tears welling up in his eyes at the same time that he caught himself moaning into Richard’s mouth. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head, caught between the pleasure of that one wicked place inside him and the ripping pain of Richard’s intrusion.

The actor reached between them and wrapped his hand around Mitch’s cock. That small contact was all it took for Mitch to explode in orgasm, his back arching as the intensity of it made his toes curl and his head feel light. Richard thrust twice before stopping, his seed spreading warm through Mitch’s arse.

At length, Richard pulled out and reached over the edge of the bed, pulling up his shirt and using it to wipe Mitch’s arse of lubricant and cum before leaning down again and kissing him softly, "I told you you’d enjoy it, didn’t I? You were so good, Mitchell-dear. You were perfect."

Mitch knew he was crying, he could feel the tears on his cheeks, but Richard didn’t seem to care about that as he undid the bindings on the boy’s wrists. "Let’s get you in the shower."

Fighting back a grimace, he sat up on the bed while Richard went into the bathroom to turn on the water. He hurt, not as much as the last time two weeks ago, but he was sore and walking was the last thing he wanted to do. With a small sob, he dropped his head to his knees and let himself cry. Screw Richard and screw the whole bloody thing. He didn’t care if he looked like a child, he was a child. He was fifteen and suddenly all those arguments he’d had with his parents about how he was old enough to take care of himself seemed so stupid. He should never have said that, because he wasn’t old enough.

Hands grabbed his upper arms, yanking up and Mitch let them. If he ever got out of here, he’d never argue with his parents again. He’d never leave home without supervision. He’d go to bed when they said to. He’d eat all his vegetables and he’d do his homework first thing. He wouldn’t watch television after eight. He’d keep his room clean. He’d help around the house. He’d even join one of those stupid after school clubs his mother was always preaching to him about.

Richard pushed him into the shower, under the hot spray of water and Mitch felt it cascade down his skin, unable to wash off the filth that was under it.