REPOST: You Know What I Want, 02/02

[overnighter]

Now I'm getting scared. I posted this Monday night at 10:32PM, and then several times today, and it is nowhere to be found (I logged in as my other self and checked this morning.) Obviously, this fic is doomed. Anyway, I laugh at the gods and try to post again.

Seriously, I am like a Luddite -- computers everywhere fear and shun me. It's ridiculous. I tried to post, and posted it privately. I tried to post, and posted only half of it. I tried to post and -- well, actually this time wasn't even a technological problem, I just fell asleep -- and in the middle of Six Degrees of Separation, too! And I love that movie!

Obviously, Jesus (the fish, not, you know, the Savior) does not want me to share this dirty, dirty bad porn with you. I, despite my good-girl Catholic root, am attempting to thwart him. Maybe third time's the charm.

Of course, y'all could just get your kicks -- angst-free, and without the need to shower after -- by checking out either the awesome updates of brandywine421's Potion or transatlantica's Back to the Chino. Or, if you're multi-fandom, you could check out the hot, hot Logan porn by the talented and dirty! miss_begonia.

So, without further ado:


It was only eight o’clock in the morning - early for a Saturday - when Seth stumbled the kitchen. In the week since he and Summer had accidentally learned of his grandfather’s deal with Ryan, Seth had averaged only three or four hours of sleep a night.

The envelope they had stolen from Caleb’s safe was under his mattress, sandwiched between two Maxims, and -- like the princess and her pea -- he could feel it like a malevolent presence lurking under his head. He still hadn’t figured out what to do with what they had learned -- talk to his father, or throw it as far away as he possibly could, but Summer had finally made the choice for him last night.

"Whatever's going on, Cohen, we can't handle it alone, and Ryan's just -- not. We have to tell someone, and your dad's the best choice, I think. He knows Ryan, he knows Caleb -- he might now how to handle it."

It had sounded like reasonable, smart advice last night, more so when she promised to come over and talk to her father with him. Of course, this morning, hoping to catch Sandy after surfing, before Ryan woke from his Seth-free morning, it seemed decidedly less so. But it was a Saturday, and while Ryan hadn’t mentioned another “appointment” of any kind, Seth didn’t want to take any chances.

Seth had learned, in the eighteen months or so that Ryan had lived with them, to read his body language pretty well. He had had to. Ryan wasn't like anyone else he'd ever met; he gave away almost nothing verbally or emotionally.

Even his body language was controlled, most of the time, but Seth was a good student, and he'd had a lot of time to master the nuances of the Atwood catalogue. He knew that clenched fists meant that Ryan was merely irritated; when he was really angry it was as though his whole body relaxed, loosening him up for the fight. A sideways look mid-Sethalogue meant, 'Seriously? Are you this much of a dumb-ass?' while one from under his bangs meant that Ryan was amused, but not about to give Seth the satisfaction of knowing it.

Ever since Seth and Summer had stumbled upon the scene in Caleb’s study, though, he was beginning to believe that he had failed entry-level Ryan entirely. In the week that had Seth been agonizing over what to do, Ryan had been, well, Ryan. He had eaten cereal with Seth each morning, he had gone to class and played Xbox, and generally behaved exactly the same as he had every other day since he’d returned to Newport.

For Seth, though, it was as if Ryan had turned into someone else entirely. For the first time, it had occurred to Seth that Ryan's childhood woes may have involved more than a drunken mother and a lack of Playstation. And if he couldn’t understand what had happened - if he still couldn’t focus on the whys and how - he understood even less how Ryan could have gone through that and still have spent the week designing a bonfire with his ex-girlfriend, seemingly unscathed.

The front door bell rang as he was standing near the coffeemaker, willing it to brew a little faster. He ran to get it before it woke his mother - or even Ryan, but by the time he and Summer returned to the kitchen, Ryan was sitting slumped over his own cup of coffee, half-nodding as a damp Sandy regaled him with a tale of his morning on the water, complete with expansive hand gestures.

Seth wanted to groan, and he felt Summer sag beside him. They entered the kitchen, and Sandy and Ryan both waved.

“Summer! What brings you to the Casa Cohen so bright and early on a weekend morning? My son’s habits must be growing on you,” Sandy said, with a smile.

“Um, hi, Mr. Cohen - Ryan,” Summer said nervously.

“Can we get you a cup of joe?”

Ryan stood to get two more mugs from the cabinet, but before Summer could answer, they were interrupted by Kirsten.

“Definitely. And maybe Seth and Summer would like some, too? Good morning, all. What are we all up so early on a Saturday anyway?” she asked as she came into the kitchen by the other door, her sky-blue bathroom trailing behind her.

This was not going well at all. Seth had hoped he and Summer would have some time to get Sandy alone, but now with Ryan and his mother -- the two people he wanted least in the world to hear what he was going to say - cheerfully trading bagels with his father, he wasn’t sure how to contrive some time alone that wouldn’t look suspicious - or maybe like he had gotten Summer pregnant.

He hadn’t really had time to think it through, though, when the front door bell rang again. He did a little mental check of the people who would be calling this early, but Ryan had a better idea.

“It’s probably Marissa. We’ve got some last minute stuff to take care of for the bonfire tonight.”

He made a move to get up, but Summer elbowed Seth in the ribs and went to sit beside Ryan at the counter.

“I’ll get it,” he finally said when Summer immediately grabbed a half of Ryan’s bagel and started chatting him up.

Afterwards, he tried to remember what those last moments were like, the veneer of normalcy over the week’s anxiety, but it all felt slightly surreal to him, like the last vivid moments of a dream.

He was already saying hello to Marissa as he opened the door, which is why - he liked to think, at least - they were able to surprise him so easily. The three men pushed through the door, without a word to Seth, each of them top-heavy with muscle, walking right by as he had been the butler.

If Seth had been from Chino, he would have marked them immediately as ex-cons, and recent ones at that. That overdeveloped triangle body only came from endless, restless hours of working out in prison yards and gyms. The one in the front was a tall blond, with a jagged scar that ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. Even as quickly as he passed Seth by, something about him seemed vaguely familiar. His two companions were more compact, and darker - Hispanic, maybe - with crude black tattoos on their arms and necks.

He trailed behind them, shocked, as they made their way, unerringly, into the kitchen, where Summer and Kirsten had ganged up on Ryan and Sandy, and were teasing them about something.

Seth was sure he would never forget the scene. It was frozen forever behind his eyes. Kirsten was still in her robe, leaning forward on the counter, gesturing with a butter knife heavy with cream cheese.

Ryan had joined Sandy, leaning back against the cabinet, clinking his coffee cup together with the older man’s in honor of some conversational point they had just scored, even as he reached out to tease Summer. It looked like the happy Saturday morning it was meant to be.

Seth had raced into the kitchen close enough on the heels of these men to catch the unwitting tableau for just a moment before it shattered. The intruders had come into the kitchen from the hall, so Ryan saw them first as they charged in. His whole body stiffened, and the heavy ceramic mug dropped and rolled onto the floor, scattering lukewarm coffee everywhere around him.

Seth didn't have a lot of experience Ryan in a full-blown panic. He'd seen him upset -- wide-eyed and panting shallowly -- but this was something else entirely. He looked like someone had just brought a nightmare to life right there in the Cohen kitchen.

"Wha . . . ” Seth's father didn't even have time to finish his exclamation. That fast, the lead goon, the tall blond in the middle of the pack, had stepped over to Ryan and struck him, hard, across the face with the butt of a pistol that seemed to appear from the middle of nowhere.

Ryan, of course, made no sound, just let his head snap back and fall against the cabinet behind him.

Sandy lunged for him after that, but the blond had reached out and grabbed Seth by the arm, while the other two goons suddenly produced handguns as well, and herded everyone toward the family room. It was then Seth realized that Ryan knew these men, or at least one of them.

"Caleb promised,” Ryan whispered to the blond as the others forced Summer to follow his parents into the family room and take a seat on the couch. Only Seth was still in earshot, caught in the grip of the man who appeared to be the leader and, in a sickening twist, appeared to know Ryan as well.

The man holding Seth's arm let him go with a shove towards the family room, and Seth's stomach sank as he registered Ryan's whispered words.

The blond turned on Ryan again and grabbed him by the open lapel of his shirt. Ryan looked terrified, although Seth wasn't sure how he knew that. It was not a look that had ever graced Ryan's face before in Seth's presence. His father caught him and pulled him down onto the loveseat next to him in time for Seth to register what was still happening almost behind him.

The blond was still in the kitchen, but had pulled Ryan close to him, away from the cabinets. From loveseat, he and his father could see perfectly, but from the chairs by the dining room table, Kirsten and Summer were straining to see around the other men and their guns.

He leaned in close with his gun hand, and for a moment, Seth thought he was going to backhand Ryan again. Instead, he caressed the darkening bruise on Ryan's face with the barrel of his gun, as his henchmen watched in keen anticipation.

"You should know better, boy, then to think that old man is running the show,” he snarled, whisper-soft, in Ryan's ear. Seth could see him shudder in response.

“Gavin,” Ryan whispered, his voice shaking, and it was only when he saw Summer blanch that Seth realized why the blond had looked vaguely familiar. The dead guy from Caleb’s photos. Who appeared to be very much not dead at all.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Ryan whispered again, and Seth tried hard to catch Summer’s eye, even as he watched his parents exchange worried glances.

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be on your back making me some cash, but instead you’re living the life of Riley up here, ain’t you?”

Seth felt his mother react to that, flinching, even as his father half-rose beside him. Without changing his stance or glancing towards them in any way, the blond - Gavin - suddenly moved the gun up to sit right behind Ryan’s ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” he called over his shoulder, and Sandy sank back beside Seth in defeat.

To Seth’s surprise, the threat of imminent death seemed to calm Ryan considerably. He watched as his almost-foster brother took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as best as he could.

"Yeah, well, Caleb must be running something. Otherwise you wouldn't be here,” Ryan spat, and Seth could see his mother’s eyebrows climb even as his father jerked beside him.

“How do you think he's going to feel when he finds out you put his daughter -- and his only grandson -- in jeopardy? You gotta let them go, man,” Ryan finished with an urgent plea.

“Why would I want to do that?” Gavin asked him, never moving the gun, and that was when Seth really started to be afraid. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things, but he knew - whatever else Caleb had done - he would never allow harm to come to his family. If these guys weren’t playing by his grandfather’s rules, they could be in very big trouble indeed.

“He’s a lot tougher than you think,” Ryan continued, sounding much braver than Seth would have under similar circumstances. "What do you think -- with all that money, he couldn't end you after this, one way or another?"

To Seth's utter surprise, the thug nodded as if considering it for a moment, then smile, an empty, dead smile that made his stomach sink.

"Not if a bullet ended him first," he pointed out non-chalantly.

Sandy reached out blindly and grabbed Seth's hand, even as Summer reached towards his mother, who had gasped aloud.

"You -- you killed Caleb?" Ryan whispered, and if possible, he whitened even further.

There was a moment of utter silence, broken only by a choked sob from his mother, but the blond smiled again.

"Nah. It ain't good business, taking out the bossman. At least, not until he pays you. That's a lesson I learned, for sure. But he didn't seem real worried about his family when he called us in, if you know what I mean."

The other two thugs, each of whom had a gun trained on a pair of them, chuckled as if hearing a particularly good joke.

"What do you want?" Ryan asked, all the bravado gone from his voice. "Why -- how -- are you here?"

"You know what I want," the blond answered, and he hit Ryan again, full in the face, letting him go to collapse to the floor, "Or, what he wants. You brought a world of hurt on yourself, boy. But I told him, you never were too smart, anyway."

Casually, as if he'd caught something on the bottom of his shoe, the man kicked out, catching Ryan in the ribs, and making him gasp. Despite that, he still managed to pull himself into a half-sitting position.

"Please," he whispered, and Seth could see the blood trickling from his split lip, "Whatever it is, they've got nothing to do with it. Let them go."

Seth saw the man shake his head and chuckle as if to himself.

“That’s not gonna happen, boy. I know it’s been a while, but do you seriously think I’d believe they’d just walk away and leave you here with me.”

He reached out and kicked Ryan again, knocking his elbow out from under him.

It took Ryan a minute, but he struggled to his feet, swaying slightly, so he could look the thug in the eye.

“Sure they would,” he rasped. Sandy’s pressure on his hand increased, and he heard his mother gasp again.

“You think they’re gonna give you up, if Caleb’s got anything to do with this? I live in the pool house, man. I’m the Kato - no one gives a rat’s ass about me.”

Seth dug his fingers into his father’s palm as he felt him half-rise again, and the taller of the two Hispanic thugs - the one with the gun pointed at their loveseat - took a half-step towards them.

“Ryan!” Sandy still managed to call out, but Ryan remained focused on Sucre - if it really was him at all.

“Look, I’ve already brought you to their house - you think they want me here. Take me with you. They won’t say a word - will you?” he asked, finally half-turning towards Sandy and Seth.

Seth nodded his head rapidly in agreement as the blond appeared to think it over.

“Dude, no! Just, you know, walk on out the door, and we’ll forget this ever happened. Um, leave Ryan behind, though - that’s a dealbreaker.”

Sucre laughed again, humorlessly, as Sandy and Kirsten simultaneously started talking.

“There’s a safe in my office with petty cash - take it, take anything you need . . .”

“Please! There’s money, jewelry. Just leave the kids alone . . .”

He reached out and grabbed Ryan’s head, turned him fully towards the family room.

“Yeah, they really look like they hate your guts, there, kiddo. Nice try. I guess you never told them the whole story, hunh? They still fooled by that Atwood charm? Well, you turn over Caleb’s property, and we’ll give ‘em an eyeful, what do you say?”

Oh, God. As soon as the words left his mouth, Seth realized what the goons were looking for - the files they had stolen from Caleb’s safe. Judging from the look on Summer’s face, she had come to the same conclusion. How was he going to get out of this mess?

Ryan swallowed hard, and when he spoke again his voice was barely audible in the family room.

“Please. I don’t know what you want. I don’t have anything of Caleb’s. I’ll give you anything - anything - just leave them out of it. Look, let’s just go. I’ll go with you, I swear.”

“You know, boy, you’re awfully eager to get out of here. It’s making me wonder what you’re hiding,” Sucre said, and hit Ryan again, this time punching him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping, and the Cohens and Summer all flinched.

“Nothing! I swear,” he choked. Sucre gave him a nudge and he fell heavily against the table.

“All right-y, then. You gonna make us do this the hard way. You know the drill, Ryan - why don’t you start by showing Caleb’s family just what hidden talents you’ve got. Strip.”
Ryan flushed, but he straightened without a word, and quickly shucked off his pajamas - sweatpants and a t-shirt - until he stood clad only in his grey boxer briefs.

“What, you think you got something no one else has seen? All the way, boy.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Ryan slipped his hands into the waistband of his shorts and let them fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, and stood naked, carefully avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Seth didn’t know what to do. The locker room code insisted that he look away, avoid seeing his sort-of brother naked and vulnerable for the second time in a week, but he was afraid to take his eyes off the scene before him, afraid that the moment he glanced away, something worse would happen. So he settled for staring intently at Ryan’s left side, noting the spreading bruise from where the thug had kicked him earlier.

Summer and Kirsten were refusing to look, turned resolutely around in their seats, and beside him, Sandy was staring with murder in his eyes, trying to catch Ryan’s attention.

“See - I’m clean. Nothing here,” Ryan said, and before he’d even finished speaking, the blond reached out with his gun hand and backhanded him again.

“I’m getting a little tired of that backtalk already, boy. I know it’s been a while, but do I have to go over the rules with you again?” he asked.

Something in the question was more ominous than it sounded, if the look on Ryan’s face was to be believed. He paled even further and dropped his head.

“No,” he whispered to the floor.

“No what?”

“No, sir,” he answered, never lifting his head.

“Better. All right, boys, I’m going to finish - examining - our boy here. You head out to the - did I hear you right, boy? The pool house? - and take it apart. Check everywhere. I’m not returning to our esteemed patron empty-handed.

Shifting slightly so that he was watching both Kirsten and Summer and the scene in the kitchen, the smaller, heavier tattooed man jerked his head, taking them all in with a single gesture.

“What about the rest of them? We can’t leave them here alone - if you’re going to be busy,” he pointed out in a perfectly calm voice, as if they were discussing who’s turn it was to wash or dry the dishes.

For a moment, Sucre paused, looming over Ryan, and Seth felt his father shift as if to put him behind his bulk. Oh God, his father was protecting him - he thought they were going to die. What had he done? Would Caleb even allow that to happen?

Instead, Sucre just nodded, and looked Ryan up and down hungrily.

“Yes, indeed, I will be busy, won’t I?”

He took his gun and pushed it against Ryan’s groin, right at the base of his cock.

“Where can we stash the heirs over there, boy? No phones, no windows, no nothing. And do not lie to me, unless you want to be singing soprano for your supper tonight.”

“Up-upstairs. Master bedroom,” Ryan stammered. “There’s a walk-in closet. It locks from the outside. There’s no way to get in or out - no phones.”

Sucre nodded, and patted Ryan’s cheek clumsily with his free hand before removing the gun slowly.

“Good boy. At least some lessons stuck. All right, boys, you heard him. Take the family upstairs, and lock ‘em in. Then head on over to the pool house. If you don’t have any luck, check back with me - Ryan and I will have had a nice, long talk by then,” he finished with a wolfish smile.

“Absolutely not!” Sandy exclaimed, as the two gunmen both gestured to them to stand up, “I’m not leaving Ryan alone with you.”

The sound of the gunshot in the closed kitchen was staggering. Seth could feel his ears ringing as it echoed against the burnished metal appliances. He felt his father sag against, and looked over at Sucre in horror.

He was holding a smoking gun, and there was a bullet embedded in the wooden table top. Ryan was in front of him, ghostly white and shaking like a leaf. Which, Seth reflected, was considerably braver than he would have been. There would have been a big puddle around him as he wet his non-pants at that. Hell, he wasn’t entirely sure his own boxers had made it though unscathed.

Kirsten and Summer stood up immediately, and Seth followed, letting his father’s hand go as he stood.

“That was just a little reminder of who is in charge here,” Sucre said.

He reached out and pressed the gun against Ryan’s chest, and beneath it, Seth saw Ryan flinch away from the white-hot barrel.

“I can be more accurate.”

“Please, Sandy,” Ryan said, and his voice was shaky with panic, “Do what he wants.”

Reluctantly, Sandy stood as well, and with two guns pointed at them, they made their way in a single file towards the stairs, his mother and Summer ahead, and Sandy bringing up the rear.

“Dad,” Seth whispered urgently as they neared the steps to his parents’ bedroom, turning back to catch a glimpse of Ryan, now spread out, facedown, on their kitchen table. “I have what they want.”

“What? Seth? What are you talking about? How could you even know . . “ Sandy was cut off by shove by one of the thugs behind them.

“Shut up!” he ordered.

They were halfway up the steps when he heard Sucre’s faint voice again.

“Berto! Cisco! Attencion! There was a rapid exchange in Spanish, in which Seth heard Ryan’s shouting voice, followed by another loud smack, before the smaller, heavier thug, who now had a name - Berto - stopped them abruptly.

“You two, back to the kitchen,” he said, pointing at Sandy and Seth with his gun. With a grunt, the other, taller man - Cisco - pushed the girls on, ignoring their pleas.

Sandy placed himself between Seth and the gun again, but not before Seth heard Ryan’s voice raised again, this time in English.

“That is Caleb Nichol’s grandson. If you hurt him, he’ll never let you live!”

Oh, well, wasn’t that reassuring. He was trying to remember back a half-hour, to the time when telling his father that Caleb was mixed up with Ryan seemed like such an insurmountable struggle. He wished he had told Sandy right away - the second they’d returned last week from his grandpa’s. His father wasn’t afraid of Caleb Nichol. Or, apparently, thugs with guns, if his behavior so far this morning was any indication.

He led the way back to the loveseat, ahead of Berto and his gun, and they took up their former positions, with the second gunman looming over them. Ryan was still bent over the table, his legs spread wide, blood dripping heavily from his nose.

Sucre nodded to them as if they were old friends, and worked a finger into Ryan’s rectum, ignoring his grunt of discomfort.

“Come on, boy. Caleb told me all about your little stint in Juvie. This can’t be nothing new for you.”

Seth watched, wide-eyed, as he performed what appeared to be a full-body cavity search. Did he really think that Ryan was hiding snapshots up his ass? Or was this just a trick to humiliate him?

With a cluck of his tongue, he removed his finger, and replaced it with the still-warm barrel of his gun. Seth heard Ryan’s whimper, and felt his father flinch beside him.

“This would be one way to get you to talk,” he noted, nodding towards Seth and Sandy again, “Wouldn’t it?”

“I swear, I swear, I don’t know what you want,” Ryan babbled, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

At that moment, the other Hispanic gunman walked back into the room, waving a fistful of Hermes scarves.

“The girls are locked down, jefe,” he said in accented English, “And I thought these would come in handy.”

Sucre removed the gun, and waved it towards Sandy and Seth.

“Tie them up, then bring the leftovers to me. Little Ryan and me are gonna have a talk while you’re tearing up the pool house. I think it’s time we took a little trip down memory lane.”

Swiftly, while Berto kept his gun trained on them, Seth had his hands tied behind his back with his mother’s silk scarf. He wanted to find it ridiculous, but mostly he found it terrifying, particularly when he realized that the slippery silk tightened the knots the more he struggled.

Beside him, Sandy was alternating between struggling with his own bonds and trying to get Seth to stop. He nudged him, and Seth tried to get his attention again, to tell him about the hidden files in his room upstairs, but Sandy had all his attention trained on Ryan and Sucre.

The two other goons had left, exiting noisily with a slam of the patio doors, intent on raiding the pool house, but not before helping tie Ryan flat to the table - face up, his arms and legs stretched wide and attached to the table legs by the colorful scarves Kirsten often wore to “dress up” her business suits. Seth sincerely hoped after this that ever teal and melon and mint green scrap of silk found its way into the fireplace. If they all got out of this. He found himself straining to hear a hint of Summer and his mother above them, prayed that they were somehow safely locked away, and not lying dead and bleeding in his parents’ icily beautiful blue bedroom.

There was another grunt of pain from Ryan, and Seth was pulled back to the scene before them. The older man was pressing down hard on bruise that was rapidly spreading across his rib cage with his gun hand, the other reaching down between Ryan’s legs to capture his teesticles in a tight grip.

“You know, there was a time when you actually did what you were told,” he began conversationally. “It would make your life a lot easier if you’d just get back into that headspace for me.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan gritted out, then whimpered as the thug’s grip tightened. “Why are they here? You’ve got me - let them go.”

“Christ on a cracker! Are back on this again?” the man demanded, and hit Ryan across the face with his gun yet again. This time, Seth was sure he heard a crack, but Ryan didn’t make another sound until Sucre’s right hand twisted at the edge of the table, tightening his grip on Ryan’s scrotum.

“I can see that you remember me, boy, which is good, because it’s making things a little bit easier for me here, but the thing it I remember you too. You were a stubborn little shit. Couldn’t make you do a thing. I guess that crackwhore mama of yours got you a little too used to the belt, hunh?”

Even in his awkward position, Ryan’s face flushed as he fought against his bonds.

“Shut up! Don’t talk about her that way,” he snarled, even as Sucre held him tightly.

“Still a mama’s boy after all this time, Ry? Typical. She *sold* you to me, kiddo, and you’re still acting like she’s the Virgin of Guadalupe.”

“She didn’t! It was Carl. She never did,” Ryan protested, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his strained voice.

Seth actually felt his stomach drop towards his shoes as he processed their conversation, and Sandy made a noise that sounded like half a curse under his breath, drawing Sucre’s attention for the first time.

“What, Son-in-Law Lawyer - the kid never told you about me? About Dawn and her parade of drug dealing scum? I guess he didn’t want to screw up a good thing here - although I notice that she ain’t nowhere around, so maybe he finally wised up, hunh, Ryan?”

His voice took on an undercurrent of menace again and Ryan whimpered in pain as the man’s hand moved mysteriously, blocked from Seth’s view by Sandy’s straining body.

“Anyway, the thing is, the kid here is a little slow. You could beat him black and blue and well, you hear the mouth on him. But just mention Mommy, or Trey, or - what was that little sweetheart’s name, Ry? - Tess? Trixie? - and he became mighty cooperative - just like that. I figured, I ain’t got all day, and Caleb don’t like you much anyway.”

“Then let my son - one of my sons - go, at least. Seth is Caleb’s grandson, just like Ryan said,” Sandy answered urgently.

“Well, I’m not really planning on hurting him - unless you feel like you gotta play the hero. He’s just - insurance - to keep you in line.”

Seth relaxed almost infinitesimally as he spoke, realizing that they may just get out this alive - if not exactly unscathed. He wasn’t Ryan. He would have cooperated the minute the guy had slapped him across the face the first time.

With that, Sucre turned back to Ryan’s prone form.

“Now, kid, we’ve got a little date, you and me. Remember how we used to play?” His voice was low, almost crooning, and Seth felt something cold and icy down his back.

He could only half-see Ryan’s battered face from his awkward position, but even so he could see that it was not the blank mask he’d worn last weekend at Caleb’s. He looked like he was in despair - as though he were trapped in a nightmare that he’d long stopped believing could be true.

“How are you here? What do you want from me?” he asked raggedly, and Seth felt Sandy beside him start to strain again against the bonds. He wasn’t sure how or if they could help Ryan, but he wanted to do something - anything - to stop him from crumbling, from reverted to the scared kid that they could both here in Ryan’s voice. The problem was that Seth didn’t know if telling them about the files would make things better or worse.

Sucre didn’t answer Ryan right away, but walked further into their kitchen. Except for their harsh breathing, and the faint sounds from th ppol house, it was utterly silent, so Seth heard the soft sound of a kitchen drawer sliding open on its hinges. Mysterious rummaging wasn’t a really good sign, he thought, and he was proven correct when Sucre returned, Sandy’s long boning knife in hand. He gently laid the gun on the counter, and nodded towards Seth and Sandy again.

“Ryan’s gonna want me to be paying attention for this - so it would be best if you just stayed where you are - to avoid the distraction. I’d hate to slip and hurt some valuable real estate,” he said.

Ryan was whimpering again, straining and tugging at his bonds as Sucre approached with the knife.

“Well, it turns out your dumb-cluck brother wasn’t exactly an ace shot.”

He took a moment as he stood at the foot of the table, and pushed back his bleached-blond bangs. There was a shiny red scar that started at the temple and disappeared into his hairline. He smiled humorlessly as he picked up the knife and dragged it slowly, delicately, across Ryan’s temple, then further. The sharp, coppery smell of blood permeated the kitchen, and Seth heard Ryan gasp again.

“Yeah, those head wounds bleed like a son-of-a-bitch, don’t they? Don’t worry, it ain’t nothing fatal. You know what they call this in them ninja movies - death by a thousand cuts. Probably, I’ll be bored before then, though, unless you want to tell me what I want to know.”

Ryan was silent, and Seth looked on in horror as Sucre continued his narrative, dragging the blade slowly over Ryan’s chest and abdomen, each pass leaving a tiny, vivid trail of blood.

“He left me with a little boo-boo and a hell of a headache. By the time I woke up, though, you were gone, and so were the pictures. I figured that prison wasn’t exactly an appealing prospect under the best of circumstances, let alone for someone with my - unique - talents. So I arranged to disappear. One homeless guy later and a meth lab next door, and I was in the clear - and so was Trey. I ain’t been Gavin Sucre for years - but I figured I’d let you use it - for old times’ sake, you know.”

As he was talking, the blade was drifting lower, and Seth heard the mutterings of the two other men as they suddenly drew closer to the house. They must have finished searching the pool house.

They stopped in the doorway, admiring Sucre’s handiwork for a moment, before reporting that they’d found nothing at all good.

“No skin mags, even. Kid lives like a padre, man,” Berto added disgustedly.

At that, Sucre laid the flat of his blade against Ryan’s bruised genitals. Okay, whatever was going to happen if Seth told, it couldn’t be worse than this.

“Wait! Wait!” he called out, struggling to stand even as his father tried to use his heavier mass to block him in, :I have what you’re looking for. I think. We took the file from Caleb’s safe - Summer and I did - not Ryan. Ryan didn’t even know we knew. We didn’t think that Grandpa would notice so fast,” he confessed, and it felt the looks that both Ryan and Sandy were shooting him.

Sucre, however, was looking at him appraisingly.

“And the old man thought you were pretty much useless. I’d never have guessed that. All right, then, kid, tell the boys where the stuff is, and my work here is done.”

The two thugs started to protest, rapidly, in Spanish, but Sucre cut them off with another enigmatic smile.

“Don’t worry, pachucos, I’ll just keep things warm for you. You won’t miss a thing.”

Seth stammered out the directions to his room, and the file, unable to stop himself from babbling.

“They’re between the Carmen Electra and the Eva Longoria - I almost went with the Paris Hilton and the Pam Anderson, but I figured that might be too obvious, you know, for sex pictures and . . .” he trailed off as Cisco gave him a push back to the loveseat, further down than before. He was studiously avoiding looking either at his father or Ryan as the two men left the family room again.

To his horror, though, Sucre returned almost immediately to Ryan, who appeared to be only half-conscious, his head lolling against the wooden table.

“Good news, boy. We’re done with work for now, and can have a little bit of fun. You used to like that, remember?” he cooed, but Ryan didn’t react.

With a snort, Sucre marched over to the refrigerator and flung the freezer door open. After rooting around for a moment, he returned to the table, grinning, a bottle of Pur vodka in his hand. He twisted off the cap and took a long swig, then upended it unceremoniously over Ryan’s torso.

As soon as the alcohol hit his many open wounds, Ryan awoke, twisting and shouting. Sucre smiled again, and approached the end of the table. Without another word, he reached down and opened Ryan, pushing the frozen mouth of the bottle against his entrance until it was enveloped with a pop. He twisted it in several inches, until the long, thin neck had disappeared, and the shoulder of the thick part of the bottle bumped against Ryan’s ass.

“Boy, oh, boy. And here I thought you was earning your keep up here. That’s as tight as the last time we met. You’ve been holding out on our hosts, haven’t you?” he asked, as Ryan whimpered wordlessly.

After a few minutes, he removed it, and brought the bottle up to Ryan’s lips. The teenager turned his head away in disgust, but Sucre forced it between his lips by the simple expedient of grasping his broken nose and clamping down, and Ryan swallowed frantically until Sucre pulled the bottle away again.

“Drink up, boy. This is a favor to you, trust me. You’re gonna want to relax a little before we have our reunion.”

He put the bottle back down on the counter with a thump that made both Seth and Sandy jump in their seats. Okay, this had not gone the way that Seth had hoped at all. It was looking less like Sucre and his goons were just going to take the missing files and go home, particularly after Sucre picked up the knife again. To Seth’s equal parts relief and horror, though, he used it simply to slice the silk bonds that bound Ryan to the table.

“Okay, up and at ‘em. You know what I want.”

It took a moment for Ryan to struggle off the table and to his feet. He stood for a moment, swaying slightly, blood trickling from his face, his torso - everywhere. With a soft cry, he sank to his knees in front of Sucre, who nodded.

“I always knew you were a quick study. Good boy.” Seth felt his gorge rise again as Sucre reached out and patted Ryan’s matted hair as though he were a particularly good puppy.

“Now, since you’ve been holding out on these nice folks, why don’t you tell them what you are, Ryan. What you’ve always been.” His voice had resumed that soft, crooning cadence again, and Seth felt himself start to shake.

Ryan muttered something, staring at the floor, and Sucre kicked out and caught him on the flank.

“Come on, now. I taught you better than that, didn’t I? Speak up, boy, like you did for the cameras.”

“I’m a hole,” Ryan muttered, barely audible.
OhGodohGodohGodohGod. This was absolutely not happening. Any minute, Seth would wake up and it would all be over. This whole week, this wretched morning that was getting worse and worse with each excruciating minute, would be ofiicially be the world’s worst dream. But Sucre was still talking, even as Berto and Cisco re-entered the room, Cisco with the thick manila envelope in his hands.

“Why’s that, Ryan?”

“That’s all I’m good for,” he whispered, wearily. The three men laughed, and as they passed by him to tak up positions around the kitchen counter, Berto kicked him again.

“At least you’re starting to remember your rightful place now. But don’t put yourself down, boy. You’re a half-decent cocksucker, too. Get up, Ryan,” Sucre ordered. “That’s not going to be very comfortable for me, is it?”

To Seth’s continued shock, Ryan obeyed the command wordlessly, struggling once again to his feet, and then bending himself painfully over one of the wicker kitchen chairs. He hissed as his weight on the chair back put pressure on his oozing cuts, but he otherwise made no sound. Seth could feel Sadny beside him, frantically trying to make eye contact with him, but Ryan’s bangs obscured his eyes from them, casting his battered face into shadow. He looked like a prize fighter on his twelfth round, hanging against the ropes for dear life.

Sucre walked behind him, and unzippered the fly of his jeans. With no other warning, entered him with a satisfied sigh. Without giving Ryan a moment to adjust, he pulled back and began pounding into almost immediately, at full speed. Seth could see Ryan’s white-knuckled grip of the chair arms, could hear his grunt of pain with each thrust. It was like a flashback to last Saturday, but so much worse.

Sucre talked the whole time.

“This is like riding a bike, I tell you. Boy, you have been neglecting your true calling. There’s no way you’d be this bulked up if you were still with me, but I gotta say, your ass is still the tightest hole I’ve ever had.”

He reached around Ryan’s bent torso, hand searching busily.

“Not having any fun, are you, boy? I remember when this used to be your favorite game.”

It was over both quicker and slower than Seth would have imagined. Sucre threw his head back as his orgasm gripped him, one hand clawing at Ryan’s shoulder, the other still buried under his stomach, searching.

As soon as he was finished, he pulled out, and Ryan fell to his knees again, seemingly less aware than before, but without another command, he quickly turned and licked the man’s cock and balls gently, cleansing them, before tucking Sucre in again and zippering his fly. The whole scene was vaguely ritualistic and totally sick, and Seth felt his father shaking beside him.

The next hour seemed to Seth to be an exercise in some surreal, other dimension. Until that morning, he had not realized that it was possible to be terrified, despairing and bored all at once. After Sucre had finished with Ryan, his minions took their turn. They forced him back up onto the kitchen table (that was so going to have to be burned, along with the entire first floor of the house, apparently), on his hands and knees, and positioned themselves one in front and one behind. They were thrusting into him at a brutal pace, in completely different rhythms, and Seth had finally looked way, burying his face in his fathers arms.

His shoulders ached and his hands were going numb, and his thigh hurt from where his father was pressing tight against him, but he knew that he shouldn’t worry about that right now, especially when Sucre came to sit in front of them, on the coffee table, dangling Caleb’s files like a promise.

“Okay, Lawyer man, we need to talk. Obviously, this whole scene is not for public consumption. You say a word - to anyone - about this, and not only will your father-in-law go down hard, but we will have another visit,” he said, surprisingly even toned. “I know where you work. Where your wife works. Where Richie Rich here goes to school. Everything’s not exactly the same as it always on Monday, and I’ll be back before you know it. And frankly, the heir apparent here is a little more to my taste than my old friend Ryan over there.”

Seth heard his father swallow thickly, and he leaned back involuntarily, sinking into the love seat. To his surprise, his nearly numb fingers brushed against something plastic deep in the crevice of the couch. Oh, God. The portable phone from the kitchen. He had flung it onto the couch this morning after his last phone call to Summer that morning.

He struggled to find its outline behind him without alerting either man of his intentions.

“If you let us go - let us all go, even Ryan - without taking this any further, you will never hear a word from us. What could we say that wouldn’t implicate my father-in-law in something very, very sordid?” Sandy asked, but Seth could hear his voice shaking slightly behind his lawyer’s bravado.

In the kitchen, the two thugs had finished using Ryan, and he was back on his knees again, slumped to one side. Seth felt the edge of the antenna behind him, and began slowly walking his clumsy fingers across the phone’s surface, searching for the keypad.

“We don’t need to find the head, ese,, we got a little head right here,” one of the men - Berto maybe - was saying behind him, and Seth redoubled his efforts, resolutely refusing to glance over to the kitchen as he heard the telltale zipper again, Ryan’s cry as his broken nose was grasped again, and the acrid, familiar smell of a hundred middle-school gym classed suddenly filled his nostrils before he heard Ryan’s frantic swallowing again.

Sucre was looking at beyond Sandy’s head to the tableau behind him with some amusement, but he turned back to the father and son on the love seat with a thoughtful look.

“You really had no idea about little Ryan over there?” he asked Sandy, and he sounded genuinely curious. “I figured it would be in his file somewhere.”

Sandy shook his head again, and Seth felt the familiar outline of the Chiquita sticker he’d attached to the phone one day in a fit of boredom. It was by the number nine on the keypad, he remembered. And suddenly, he had a reference point. Now, all he needed was a distraction.

“I guess the kid really kept his trap shut after all. That’s a good lesson to learn, Mr. Lawyer Man,” he said, his voice casually menacing again, “In fact, I think that I might just be able to provide a little added incentive.” He raised his voice, gesturing to the two men in the kitchen.

“Bring our little friend in here, why don’t you? I think it’s time for our legal beagle here to learn a little more about Ryan’s - talents. What do you say?”

“Don’t! Don’t do this, please,” Sandy pleaded, but Seth was listening with only half an ear, and wasn’t sure why he what had set him off. It provided the distraction he needed, though, as both men were watching Ryan stumble, pushed from behind by the thugs, into the family room.

With a muttered prayer, and a promise to take the Nana to every high holiday service from now until - forever - he groped for the familiar 9-1-1 digits. For a moment, there was nothing, then he heard a muffled voice coming from somewhere under his left butt cheek.

“What’s your emergency?”

Sandy and Sucre were still arguing, and Ryan was kneeling in front of them both, in the space between the sofa and the coffee table. His was still naked, his face completely unrecognizable, his body a mass of cuts and bruises. And, Seth realized with a horror he didn’t think he could feel anymore, there were drops of golden liquid glistening in his eyelashes and eyebrows, even as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Seth took a deep breath and prayed again that the emergency dispatcher was smart enough to get it, and that Sucre and his goons were not. That no one had heard the faint, tinny voice.

“Haven’t you done enough damage already? You come to our house and hold Caleb Nichol’s family hostage - you’ve got my mom and Summer locked away upstairs, and the three of us down here with the three of you - and your guns! Don’t you think we’re already terrified? We get it. You’re badasses. You were mean to Ryan when he was a kid. You’re trying to get out of here with whatever you can take. GO ahead. Just leave us alone. We won’t tell the police. We won’t tell anybody. How could we?”

By the time he was finished, he could still hear the buzz of the phone beneath him, but the voice was silent. Had they heard enough? Understood at all? Or had his ass accidentally hung up on them?

Ryan was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, and his father was looking at him in horror, but Sucre had that same half-amused look he’d had when Seth told him that he had Caleb’s file.

“I think that your grandfather may have underestimated you, pretty boy,” he said, amusement filling his voice.

“You’re right. There’s nothing you can do. But still, I’d hate to leave out gracious hosts without a little parting gift, at least. Let me tell you, once upon a time, your pool boy here was a star - such a tight ass, and those cocksucker lips - and he never, never cried, no matter what you did to him. With that baby face, he was making me a fortune, until fate intervened. I just think a little taste of that will go a long way towards making sure nobody wants to have a little chat down the road with any cop friends he might have, that’s all.”

From the kitchen, Berto and Cisco were laughing darkly, and Ryan had twisted to look at Sucre with dull-eyed horror. Seth finally understood why Sandy had been so upset.

“He won’t do it,” Ryan whispered hoarsely. It was the first thing he’d said in over an hour, and his voice was thick and unsure, “He won’t. You can’t make him.”

Seth was torn between wanting the cops to be listening in on the open line and wanting to make sure that no one anywhere, under any circumstances, ever heard what was about to transpire.

“Never, kid,” Sandy agreed, glaring at Sucre. “I promised I’d never hurt you.”

Sucre still seemed amused, which didn't exactly seem like a good sign.

"Oh, he's not going to do anything, boy. You're going to do all the work."

"No! I won't. What are you going to do, hit me?" Ryan asked wearily. "Shoot me? Go ahead. I'd rather be dead."

Seth realized for the first time that Sucre had brought more than Ryan's file over to the family room with him. The barrel of his shiny, shiny gun was pointed steadily betweeen his eyes. Yeah, not a good sign at all.

"I don't think you understand, boy. I know you. You, I'll leave alone. I'm gonna shoot Richie Rich here, first. Someplace nice and non-fatal, but still, it ain't no fun to be shot. Then, you still don't cooperate, we're gonna move upstairs. And if you still think I'm not serious, well, then, the last thing thing your lawyer here is going to feel is your lips on his cock when I put a bullet through his head. Save us all the trouble, boy. I know Caleb won’t care too much if the lawyer buy it, but you might,” Sucre pointed out, still sounding entirely reasonable.

With a cry of despair, Ryan turned back towards Sandy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and reached up with shaking hands to undo the ties on Sandy’s board shorts.

Seth hadn’t seen his father’s penis since he had stopped showering with him in pre-school, and he wasn’t exactly glad for the return visit. But never in his life had been happier - or, he imagined, would he be happier - to see a man’s flaccid member in his whole life. If his father had responded in any way to this - nightmare - Seth wasn’t sure what any of them would have done.

Sucre gave Ryan a push on the shoulder with his free hand.

“Go on, show the man what you can do. And don’t be a hero, there Lawyer Man. No payoff, no bye-bye. How else are we gonna teach these kids today to finish what they start?”

Ryan closed his eyes and took the tip of Sandy’ cock into his mouth. Seth could now definitively say that there was, indeed, something more compelling than watching a gun in your face. He was grateful, still, where Sucre finally lowered it again, intent on watching the show.

Ryan was intent on his task, his eyes tightly closed, his hands rising to caress Sandy’s sac gently, cupping his balls in his palm. Above him, Sandy was watching with his eyes wide, tears rolling down his face unnoticed. He was almost doubled over, at least as far as he could be with his arms still tied behind him, and he was murmuring to Ryan even as his face contorted in pain and pleasure combined.

“Kid, I’m so sorry. So sorry. I love you, we all love you. Nothing can change that. Nothing can change you. You’ll always be ours. We’ll get past this, I promise . . .”

It was nonsense, really, a litany of sorrow and broken promises, but Seth had never loved his father more than he did at that particular moment.

It seemed to Seth that the world has come to a stop, that they were forever suspended in this awful place - wondering if Ryan would ever finish, wondering if the police would come -- when he felt his father tense beside him. Apparently, Sucre had seen the same thing, because at the last moment he put a hand in Ryan;s hair and yanked him back, hard, so that Sandy’s cum spattered across his battered face in several surprisingly powerful pulses.

Despite his father’s muttered promises, this was not, Seth reflected, something any of them were liable to get over any time soon.

Sandy broke down, sobbing openly, and Ryan wouldn’t let him go, clinging to his legs blindly. With a wave of his gun, Sucre caught Seth’s attention again.

“Hey, heir apparent. We’re going to do a little shopping in the safe before we go, so let’s make extra-sure no one changes their minds. Kiss your almost-brother, there, so we’re sure that you’ve got a reason to shut it, too.”

Seth wasn’t sure what the man was suggesting, really, until he felt a hand on the back of his head. Leaning over awkwardly, he reached out blindly and kissed Ryan on the cheek. He tasted of blood and sex and other things Seth didn’t want to think about, but Sucre was forcing him towards Ryan’s battered mouth. He had just closed his lips over Ryan’s torn and bleeding ones, when the world exploded around them.

Later, much later, he would discover that the kiss was not in fact the end of the world, but was, instead, the distraction the Newport police had waited for. The explosion had been a flash-bang grenade, tossed through the patio doors, and in its aftermath, all three of the thugs had been captured. At the time, though, he remembered thinking that it was fitting, at least, that he ended the world with the taste of Ryan on his tongue.

Okay, so it turns out I need a little teeny, tiny epilogue to wrap things up. But it's late and I'm tired of dealing with LJ, and thus will try to post again tommorrow. Again, let me know if anyone other than I can see this. Many thanks, and, um, sorry about the sick, freakish porn.