Thanks and Giving
Title: Thanks and Giving
Chapter: One of two
Rating: NC17, mostly due to Luke's potty mouth.
Disclaimer: Since CBS cancelled the show, do they really give a shit?
Summary: Very AU. Luke's a rent boy, working the streets.
Author's Note: Hokay. It's like this. I was gonna write something fun and porny and ToppyBottom!Luke for Moey's birthday. Annnnd this happened.It's not exactly porny or fun, but full of Teh Dramaz and Luke's pretty fucked up little puppy. And it suddenly got really LONG...I recall "Skookum" was going to be a one shot as well. But my Muse, this is the way she rolls, and I've stopped arguing. (She smokes Pall Malls and drinks Jim Beam right out of the bottle, so what can I do?) Anyways, a very happy belated B-Day. I love you like crazy, and you deserve sunshine glitter rainbows and nakkid Jakes and Chris Pines.
And I will seriously work on writing some fluff. *sigh*
I decided that he was going to be my last trick of the night. I was dog tired.
It had been a fucking awful week.
The rent was almost due, I was also behind on the electric, and Paolo, the moron, had almost od'd Monday, which was a huge, exhausting psycho drama. The weather was freezing, which limited the number of pick-ups.
I was lucky to find this guy at the Z Street Bar, a grubby, out of the way little joint that served watered down drinks and had a certain reputation. Which was probably why my john picked it. Even dressed down, his clothes hinted big shot broker or lawyer on the downlow. I didn't really give a fuck, since they all started to look the same to me-desperate and pathetic.
I can say that, because I also used those words to describe myself.
Anyways, he bought me a seven and seven, and I flirted a little, and he hoarsely whispered dirty things in my ear. It was the same sick garbage I've heard a million times before. It didn't really matter, but I guess the ritual was important. A couple of minutes later and I was in a wet, cold alley, on my knees.
I was putting on my usual act, making like he was some Ambercrombie & Fitch model. I unzipped him like it was going to be Christmas and my birthday, and ooed and ahh'd over his somewhat stubby penis, jutting out of his underwear like a fat worm. "Gonna take you to heaven, baby." I purred, pulling a condom out of my jeans pocket. "Just let me slip this on…"
"No." he said, voice suddenly sharp. "I want to come on your face. I'll give you an extra twenty."
And I don't know why, because god only knows I'd done far more degrading things for a buck, but this kind of ticked me off. "Wasn't part of the original deal, man." I said, leaning back on my heels, squinting up at his face. I tried to read him, wanting to know if this was just petulance or genuine anger. "C'mon-I'll make reeeeal good for you." I wheedled, smiling to show the dimples. I've made a lot of money with them. "I've been told I've got a really talented mouth."
"Then you should use it like I'm paying you for, you little fucking whore." He suddenly grabbed me by my head, and pushed my face in his crotch. He smelled like some crummy shower gel mixed with pee, and his cock, instead of hitting my mouth, went into my goddamn eye.
I can't really explain it, but that made me unexpectedly furious. I'd been conditioned to please, and lie and cajole, and it was just too much. It was like I was suddenly channeling the old Luke, the one that was once a spoiled prince of Oakdale. The person I was before Echo Lake and running away and living on the streets. Before I was a rent boy and shameless and a skank.
The old Luke Snyder, that didn't take any crap off of anyone.
I broke away from his grasp and gave him a good hard shove, and he awkwardly banged into the dumpster, pants around his ankles. "FUCK YOU!!!!" I yelled. I pulled the money he'd given me earlier and threw it at him. "Come all over this, you prick." Then I stormed off.
I think I was a bit too pleased with myself for making such a dramatic exit, and it caused me to make a big mistake. "Never turn your back on a john, man." Paolo always wisely counseled. That rule had kept me alive so far.
But I forgot it and I paid the price. Because just as I was about to leave the alley, I was hit on the head from behind. The blow dropped me to my knees, and it was followed by a sharp kick to the ribs. The pain made my vision blur, and panic made breathing difficult. I was now in a huge fucking boatload of trouble.
I tried to crawl away and maybe find the switchblade I stored in my sock, but he was too angry and too quick, a shoe connecting to my head this time. I saw stars and then a deep bottomless black rose up to swallow me whole, like the whale did Jonah. I remember thinking this was it, then. I was going to bite it in some horrible, piss filled alley. To be honest with you, a big part of me really didn't mind. I was getting really tired of the whole living thing, anyways. The last thing I remember thinking was that I hoped my family would never find out.
Then the world got set on pause for awhile. When my hearing and vision had returned, I heard a voice that was really angry sounding. But it wasn't my john. Someone else had joined the party.
I raised my head off the wet asphalt and squinted up at the new guy. All that registered at first was that he was really tall and had a deep voice. And he was standing between me and the john, all protective like. This was quite a surprise.
"I'm telling you, he mugged me. I was only defending myself." The john protested.
"Then we definitely should call the cops." Tall Guy said mildly. I groaned inwardly, as this was going to suck. Cops, as a rule, hate queers, especially queer hookers. They were never going to believe me over the john. Being part of the one percent always gives you a pass.
Then again, I suppose it was better than getting kicked to death.
However, I got another huge surprise from Tall Guy."Although I would like to hear you explain to them why your fly somehow got opened while being robbed." And it was. The john peered down stupidly at his crotch for a moment, stared at Tall Guy, and then suddenly turned on his heel and ran off.
I can't say I was sorry to see him leave.
By this time the dizziness had passed and I staggered to my feet. I wove around like a drunken sailor before being steadied by Tall guy, who grabbed my arm.
"Hey-hey. I don't think you should move, man." he said. "You're pretty messed up."
I shrugged out of his grip. "I'll be fine." I said firmly, or at least tried to. I backed away from to get closer to the street. "Look…thanks for, you know, jumping into a pretty fucked up situation. Most people would just walk on by. "
"Well, that's too damn bad." Tall Guy took a cautious step closer. "Look, buddy-let me call the cops to report that asshole, or take you to a hospital. You're bleeding."
That kind of shocked me. I cautiously touched my face where it was throbbing, and sure enough, my fingers came away warm and red and wet. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I began to really panic, which possibly explains why I got so snotty to my rescuer.
"Hey-cops don't give a shit about people like me! And I can't afford a hospital, okay? If I had a lot of money, I certainly wouldn't be blowing some asshole in an alley, right?" I hated the hysterical tone in my voice, but I just couldn't stop myself. "So, go home-you've done your Spider-Man superhero good deed for the night. Saved the whore from a dire fate. Why do you even give a shit?"
"Why not?" he said simply. And I have to admit, he sort of had me there. While I was chewing this over, he took another step closer, and I finally got a good look at his face from under the hood of his red sweatshirt. The streetlights showed someone young and boyish and handsome, the sort of guy I would daydream about before my life went to hell. I had to admit, it disarmed me a little.
"Look-if you won't go to a hospital, come to my apartment." he said softly. "I live only a block away. I have first aid kit, I can patch you up."
This guy was really too good to be fucking true. "What are you-some kind of missionary looking for holy brownie points?"
He gave me a slight, lopsided grin."Nope. Dude, you already figured it out-I'm Spider-Man. With great power comes great responsibility."
And I just had to laugh, I couldn't help it. It also sent a jolt of pain across my ribs. I tried to hide it, but I'm sure he saw. I also began to realistically weigh my options. I doubted a cab was going to pick up any guy who looked like he'd gone a few rounds at some fight club, and I was miles from home-my legs were too rubbery to walk it. I could have called Paolo, but I had no doubt that two-bit slut was doing some business uptown, and couldn't be bothered.
I sighed, and finally gave in. I've certainly done stupider things. "Okay. Who am I to argue with Peter Parker?"
"Good." I got another lopsided grin.
I slowly followed him, stepping out of the alley. He paused at the sidewalk for a moment, picking up a brown paper bag from the ground. He answered my inquisitive stare. "Just got off my shift, and was taking home some day-olds."
"So, my ass has been saved from some superhero doughnut maker?" I quipped.
His big, unexpected laugh echoed off the surrounding brick. "Not quite. Superhero barista."
"Must be all that caffeine, then, that makes you want to right wrongs." I said, trying very hard not to dizzily weave around the pavement.
"Must be." he said quietly. He reached out an arm "You need a little help…?"
"I can manage!" I snapped.
"Got it." He pulled his arm back like I was about to bite him.
Fortunately, his building was indeed only a block away. It was old and tired, like the rest of the neighborhood. He unlocked a rusty security door, which led into a shadowy foyer, lit by a faint bulb. My good samaritan then led me to an elevator, which looked unreliable as hell, a wonky steampunk contraption. "I'm on the fifth floor." Tall Guy said. "I have a feeling you don't want to tackle the stairs."
"I have a feeling you're right."
In the herky-jerky elevator, my skin began to prickle with fear. I never went to anyone's apartment unless I knew them, and since I was now messed up, I was pretty fucking vulnerable. Tall Guy had eagle scout written all over him, but then again, so did Ted Bundy. My heart began to hammer loudly in my chest. I was going to have to be on high alert, and try to get out of there as quickly as possible.
I decided a little bravado wouldn't be out of place. "So, what's your real name, Barista-Man?"
"Noah. Noah Mayer." he answered. I had to admit to myself it was a nice name that went with that nice face. "What's yours?"
Lately, I had been alternating between Jessie and Ryder-names I long ago imagined would grace my first novel. What a joke. But for some reason, "Luke," slipped out of my mouth, and I couldn't snatch it back.
He gave me another one of those stupid, disarming grins. "Nice to meet you, Luke."
Yeah, right. I thought. I'm sure you love hanging out with all kinds of rent boys. But I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
The elevator ground to a halt, and the door opened to a creepy, dank hallway. I tried again not to think of Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer as I followed Noah to his apartment door. I made note of the nearest exit.
The studio apartment was a bit of a surprise. First off, no chains hanging from the ceiling or torture racks-yea! It was painted in warm, dark reds and oranges, and there was barely any furniture-a simple wooden table and chairs, an old fashioned lamp, a bookshelf, an arm chair and a worn looking couch covered by a wool Indian blanket. For all its starkness, it was really clean and kind of homey, unlike the chaotic rat's nest that Paolo and I inhabited.
Noah threw his keys on the table and placed the bag there as well. As he did, a small shape rocketed out of what I guessed to be the bedroom. The movement made me jump, and I relaxed when I heard a frantic 'mewmewmew' and then watched as a little black and white cat dusted Noah's ankles.
"Hey Groucho-hey buddy." Noah leaned down to give his cat a brief pat, then he looked expectantly at me. "Let's get you fixed up, Luke-bathroom's this way."
I have to admit, I was shaking more than a little when we both went into the bathroom. It was all cold, greenish tile, like the bottom of the sea. Noah opened a cabinet door and pulled out a formidable looking first aid kit. As he was doing this, I caught a glimpse of myself. I looked the proverbial twenty miles of bad road, bruised and bloody. Worse part was my eyes. So hollow and dead. I never realized I looked so fucking old, even though I was just twenty-three. But that's all part of the lifestyle.
"Why don't you sit down?" Noah said quietly, indicating the toilet. I tore my eyes away from my reflection, embarrassed to have gotten caught staring, and plopped my butt on the john. Noah put on a pair of thin surgical gloves and started dabbing some antiseptic on a cotton ball. He reached towards my face, and I couldn't help it-I flinched.
"Luke…I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." Yeah, I'd heard that one before. I let out a breath and looked up, hoping for cocky and defiant, and stared up at him, right in the eyes. He stared right back at me. Those baby blues of his were determined, and I had to admit, kind. Truly a boy next door.
If he was a psycho, he was certainly concealing it well.
"Just a little nervous." I admitted.
"Well, I don't blame you." Noah touched my face again, delicately as you would a china tea cup, and tilted my head towards the light. Then he started carefully dabbing my forehead. It burned like fire, and I gave a loud hiss. "Sorry-sorry." Noah murmured. "I'll try and do this as quick as I can."
"So, you preparing for armageddon?" I said conversationally. "Looks like you've got enough supplies for Johns Hopkins."
"I guess it is a bit of an overkill, but old habits die hard-I was a paramedic." Noah chuckled and threw a couple of brightly stained cotton balls in a waste basket. He frowned down at me. "I think the bleeding has slowed down quite a bit, but I'm afraid you are going to need a couple of stitches."There was a short pause. "I could do it if you want. But the problem is, I don't have any localized painkillers."
I debated this for a moment. He still could be some random crazy, and this was gonna be the point that shit got real. Or he could have be telling the truth, and it would save me a doctor bill. I swallowed hard. "Just promise I'll have a cool scar."
He smiled. "You'll be as cool as Clint Eastward, man." He started rummaging around in the first aid kit again.
I tried not to look at the needle he was sterilizing. "So, how come you work as a barista, and not at a hospital, since you have all these mad doctor skills."
"Three tours of Afghanistan kind of soured me on the medical field as a whole." Noah threaded the needle and looked down at me. "Okay, Luke. Just hold still and trust me. You can swear if you want. It will be three stitches, tops."
"Just hurry the fuck up-okay?" I knew I was sounding ungrateful, but the idea of someone pushing a needle through my face was really freaking me out.
Noah got down to business without any more preamble, and I clutched the sides of the toilet so tight, I was surprised it didn't break. It fucking hurt. I also said a few phrases that would peel paint. But it was over pretty quickly, and Noah cleaned up the wound one more time and stuck a big bandage on my face.
"You did good, Luke." I snorted a little, as I was now drenched with cold sweat and felt like I was going to faint-some Clint Eastward I was. "Now would you let me take a look at your ribs and see if anything is broken? That guy was kicking the shit out of you."
I gulped down more panic. "It's okay, Noah. You've done enough already. Just lemme sit here for a minute. Then I'll call a cab and get out of your hair. "
Again, I got the determined blue eyes. "Luke-c'mon. You just let me sew up your face-poking at your ribs should be small potatoes."
He had a point. I managed to shrug off my old leather jacket, and with Noah's help, I pulled my tee over my head. I was shocked at how much blood was on it. I felt really strange and exposed as Noah gingerly felt my chest. I had a huge bruise forming on my right side, which was going to turn interesting colors later on. I could smell myself too, as I honestly hadn't had a shower in awhile. I felt the burn of shame.
Noah, if he noticed, made no comment. "I honestly don't think anything's broken, but you really should get a doctor to look at it to make sure." I restrained an eye roll. "So, what I can do is wrap it up to make you more comfortable, and we can put some ice on it to get the swelling to go down."
"Okay." At this point, I was ready to agree to anything just to get this over with.
Noah expertly wrapped a stretchy bandage tight around my chest, which I had to admit, helped. I started to reach for my soiled t-shirt, but Noah surprised me by shrugging off his hoodie and handing it to me. "Here-you don't want to put that on again." I wanted to argue, but I was shivering, so I pulled it on. It was a bit big on me, and it smelled good-like clean laundry and Noah's slightly spicy aftershave.
Noah packed up his first aid kit and reached out a hand to help me get off the toilet. Part of me wanted to just swat it away, but I knew I was pretty rubber-legged and unsteady, and my whole body was painfully throbbing. I was going to need a couple of minutes to recover before going back out in the cold to find a cab, so I had to continue to make nice.
Noah gently pulled me to my feet, and standing close, I realized just how tall he was, and what wide shoulders he had. He was wearing a baggy olive green t-shirt that read "Goldman's 24 Hour Deli" on the front, and it didn't completely disguise the hard muscle underneath.
I could smell that cologne and the soap on his skin. And for a very brief, tiny micro-second I saw a certain something flash in his eyes at my close proximity. Something all too familiar. I was both disappointed and elated at the same time, finally getting Saint Noah's number.
We left the bathroom and Noah said, "Why don't you sit down on the couch, and I'll get you some ice." He walked over to his tiny kitchenette and opened the freezer."I also have some Advil, but you should probably get something in your stomach. I brought home some bagels. I could also make some tea."
I plopped my ass on the sofa and glared at him. "You know, you can stop this bullshit any time now."
He paused and set an ice tray on the counter, turning to stare at me. "What are you talking about? What bullshit?"
"This nicey-nicey good samaritan act. I have to admit, you had me fooled for a little while bro, but you are like all the rest-you want me to fuck you or suck you. Pretty warped too, I might add. Most guys don't beat around the bush and just throw me a fifty. But you, pard, wanna feel good about yourself when the whore blows you out of gratitude." I gave a loud snort. "And you know, I DO owe you one. So let's get this over with-you want me here or in the bedroom?"
Noah's face flushed and suddenly, those eyes got really steely and narrow. "You know, you really are fucked up."
I glared back. "Well, man, it's been my experience that it's a really fucked up world. People love to use and abuse, and everybody, everybody wants something. You're no different, Mr. Noah Mayer. I admit, I'm not the prime piece of ass I was back in the day, but I can read you just like the front page of the Times. You want some of this." I waved my hand at my body."So, you a big ol' closet case? I've done plenty of those. Or just a straight guy wanting to experiment? Personally, I get a real repressed vibe off of you-I bet you are really into some kinky shit, right?"
He let out a long breath. "You know what-go to hell. I was feeling pretty bad for you because you obviously were in some trouble, but it's also obvious that you are a fucking asshole. And yeah, okay-I think you're attractive-you got me there. But Jesus, what kind of person hits on someone who's just been beaten up in a alley? Not everyone is like that, Luke-you've been hanging around the bottom feeders for far too long." He stormed over to the couch. "I helped you because it was the right thing to do, Luke. That's how I was brought up, and that's how I can look myself in the mirror, okay? So- either accept that it or not. I don't give a shit. I've had a long day at work, and it's two am and I don't deserve any more bullcrap." He frowned down at me. "You can either stay or go. I'd feel bad about someone in your condition walking around on the streets, but hey, that's your problem."
I swallowed, now feeling unexpectedly guilty. It started to dawn on me that I was maybe treating the first decent person I'd encountered in years like, well, shit. He also sounded a lot like a man I tried not to think about.
A man named Holden Snyder.
"Sorry." I mumbled, shrugging. " I'm just…wrung out and paranoid. Maybe you really are Spider-Man after all."
Noah's anger faded."Not even close, but it never hurts to try. So... how about that tea?"
I was amazed he wasn't tossing me out on my ear. "Sure-okay. And maybe one of those bagels too, if it's not too much trouble."
"You got it."
Noah returned to the kitchenette, where he first put on a kettle and then bagged up some ice in plastic to put on my ribs. While he was slicing up the bagels and pouring the tea, the little cat suddenly jumped on the sofa, purring, and holding a ragged toy mouse in his teeth. He was a funny looking little guy, with slightly crossed green eyes and a blobby black mustache that contrasted to the white of his face. I gave him a scritch behind the ears, and he responded by bumping my hand. It had been years since I had been around any animals, and I missed them.
"Pet him once and he's yours forever." Noah said with a fond chuckle. He set a plate full of buttered bagels in front of me on the coffee table, as well as two steaming cups of tea and a bottle of anvil. "I found that out the hard way. He followed me home from work one night and I've been stuck with him ever since." I could tell he didn't mind in the least.
The cat gave my hand another bump and decided to plop himself in my lap. "What's his name again?" I asked, trying to reach for the tea without disturbing the cat. I ended up flinching with pain and Noah kindly put the mug in my hand.
"Groucho." Noah said, taking his own tea and settling into the armchair.
"That's a weird name."
"Well, it's after Groucho Marx, you know?" I shook my head, drawing a blank. "Big mustache, cigar, attitude. Who said stuff like, "I intend to live forever, or die trying." and "Time flies like the wind, fruit flies like bananas."
I had to laugh, which hurt. "Sorry-still don't have a clue."
"Not surprised. Most people don't know what the hell I'm talking about when it comes to movies. I love old black and white ones." He took a sip of tea. "Promise me someday you'll see A Night at the Opera. Incredibly funny."
"Sure." I was pretty sure I never really would, since I mostly like movies where stuff gets blown up.
We had a short period of somewhat comfortable silence. Noah sipped his tea, I managed to eat half a bagel and down some Advil, and Groucho fell sound asleep in my lap. It was nice and toasty, and I began to dread going back outside. The prospect got worse when Noah looked up and pointed at the window. "Oh hey-it's snowing." He smiled wide, and it was little kid charming.
I had the opposite reaction, as I hate snow. Snow meant standing on freezing street corners and blowing johns in cars. I stared outside, and sure enough, there were big thick flakes falling through the sky like scattered feathers.
"Well, this should be my cue, then. I should get going before it gets any worse."I nudged Groucho off my lap and he made a little noise of protest.
Noah set his cup down on the table and looked at me with those eyes of his. "Luke-you don't have to go. Crash on my couch-it's okay. You can regroup in the morning."
It was incredibly tempting, although it also scared me for a lot of reasons. I blurted out the most obvious one."Look…Noah- I was an ass before, and I um, apologize. But I don't get why you would let a total stranger, especially one with an incredible amount of baggage in your apartment. I mean, I could rob you blind-or worse. It's kind of crazy."
He gave me a slight smile. "Well, first of all there's not much to steal, and I doubt you'd get a jump on me." I had a feeling he was right on that score. He had some serious guns under that long sleeved t-shirt "And as to why…" he gave a painful swallow. "Well-I've been in a place where people shoot at you, blow each other up. After a while, it felt pretty fucking senseless and hopeless. I mean, I would patch people up and they'd get killed two weeks later. So…maybe this is crazy, but it's a lot less insane then some of the other stuff I've been through. And-I dunno-it feels good to help someone out. Simple as that."
I couldn't come up with much of an argument. I also suddenly got the strong feeling that things weren't all that hunky-dory in Noah land, which was unusual for me. I didn't have time to worry much about other people, being too busy, well, surviving. I makes you more than a little selfish.
But Noah, with his bagels and first aid kit and Groucho cat-he made me a bit curious. He made me care. And that hadn't happened in ages. So I blurted out a question.
"How long have you been, um, stateside?"
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. "Three months. It still seems pretty weird, going from crazy Kabul to serving coffee at Goldman's. I still get nervous walking around parked cars or in crowds. I sleep a little better though-don't miss twenty guys snoring and farting in a tent." He suddenly yawned. "Sorry. I'm about ready to drop, and I bet you are, too. Fortunately, I get to sleep in tomorrow-still can't believe I got the holiday off."
"Holiday?" I asked stupidly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Luke-it's Thanksgiving."
"Oh." I honestly hadn't a clue. "I uh, have never been one for the holidays. " Haunted by too many memories.
Noah's face was softened with understanding, which made me feel all prickly and weird. "Neither have I, really." I waited for a further explanation, but none came. Instead, Noah stood up. "I'll go get you an extra pillow and another blanket." he said, leaving the room.
I was kind of relieved the conversation was at an end, since I was suddenly so damn tired. Noah got me settled on the couch, and it made me think of all the times mom or Emma parked me on the sofa when I was sick, juice box and teddy bear within easy reach, a million years ago. When I was happy and loved and safe, a million years ago.
"Sleep as long as you like, Luke." Noah said as he switched off the lamp."Good night."
I could make out his tall silhouette as he moved towards his bedroom. "Noah..?"
"Yeah?"
I made myself say it."Thanks." What I didn't say was, "Thanks for caring when no one else would. For taking me home and patching me up. For saving my life." Those words were still too hard.
"You're welcome." Noah answered, before halfway closing his bedroom door.
I stared out at the snow, getting thicker by the minute, and felt grateful for being someplace warm. I was startled for a second when Groucho jumped on the sofa again, then flinched when he climbed on my sore ribs.
"You're a pest." I said as he gave mew, and curled up on my chest.
I fell asleep to the sound of purring.
To be continued...
Chapter: One of two
Rating: NC17, mostly due to Luke's potty mouth.
Disclaimer: Since CBS cancelled the show, do they really give a shit?
Summary: Very AU. Luke's a rent boy, working the streets.
Author's Note: Hokay. It's like this. I was gonna write something fun and porny and ToppyBottom!Luke for Moey's birthday. Annnnd this happened.It's not exactly porny or fun, but full of Teh Dramaz and Luke's pretty fucked up little puppy. And it suddenly got really LONG...I recall "Skookum" was going to be a one shot as well. But my Muse, this is the way she rolls, and I've stopped arguing. (She smokes Pall Malls and drinks Jim Beam right out of the bottle, so what can I do?) Anyways, a very happy belated B-Day. I love you like crazy, and you deserve sunshine glitter rainbows and nakkid Jakes and Chris Pines.
And I will seriously work on writing some fluff. *sigh*
I decided that he was going to be my last trick of the night. I was dog tired.
It had been a fucking awful week.
The rent was almost due, I was also behind on the electric, and Paolo, the moron, had almost od'd Monday, which was a huge, exhausting psycho drama. The weather was freezing, which limited the number of pick-ups.
I was lucky to find this guy at the Z Street Bar, a grubby, out of the way little joint that served watered down drinks and had a certain reputation. Which was probably why my john picked it. Even dressed down, his clothes hinted big shot broker or lawyer on the downlow. I didn't really give a fuck, since they all started to look the same to me-desperate and pathetic.
I can say that, because I also used those words to describe myself.
Anyways, he bought me a seven and seven, and I flirted a little, and he hoarsely whispered dirty things in my ear. It was the same sick garbage I've heard a million times before. It didn't really matter, but I guess the ritual was important. A couple of minutes later and I was in a wet, cold alley, on my knees.
I was putting on my usual act, making like he was some Ambercrombie & Fitch model. I unzipped him like it was going to be Christmas and my birthday, and ooed and ahh'd over his somewhat stubby penis, jutting out of his underwear like a fat worm. "Gonna take you to heaven, baby." I purred, pulling a condom out of my jeans pocket. "Just let me slip this on…"
"No." he said, voice suddenly sharp. "I want to come on your face. I'll give you an extra twenty."
And I don't know why, because god only knows I'd done far more degrading things for a buck, but this kind of ticked me off. "Wasn't part of the original deal, man." I said, leaning back on my heels, squinting up at his face. I tried to read him, wanting to know if this was just petulance or genuine anger. "C'mon-I'll make reeeeal good for you." I wheedled, smiling to show the dimples. I've made a lot of money with them. "I've been told I've got a really talented mouth."
"Then you should use it like I'm paying you for, you little fucking whore." He suddenly grabbed me by my head, and pushed my face in his crotch. He smelled like some crummy shower gel mixed with pee, and his cock, instead of hitting my mouth, went into my goddamn eye.
I can't really explain it, but that made me unexpectedly furious. I'd been conditioned to please, and lie and cajole, and it was just too much. It was like I was suddenly channeling the old Luke, the one that was once a spoiled prince of Oakdale. The person I was before Echo Lake and running away and living on the streets. Before I was a rent boy and shameless and a skank.
The old Luke Snyder, that didn't take any crap off of anyone.
I broke away from his grasp and gave him a good hard shove, and he awkwardly banged into the dumpster, pants around his ankles. "FUCK YOU!!!!" I yelled. I pulled the money he'd given me earlier and threw it at him. "Come all over this, you prick." Then I stormed off.
I think I was a bit too pleased with myself for making such a dramatic exit, and it caused me to make a big mistake. "Never turn your back on a john, man." Paolo always wisely counseled. That rule had kept me alive so far.
But I forgot it and I paid the price. Because just as I was about to leave the alley, I was hit on the head from behind. The blow dropped me to my knees, and it was followed by a sharp kick to the ribs. The pain made my vision blur, and panic made breathing difficult. I was now in a huge fucking boatload of trouble.
I tried to crawl away and maybe find the switchblade I stored in my sock, but he was too angry and too quick, a shoe connecting to my head this time. I saw stars and then a deep bottomless black rose up to swallow me whole, like the whale did Jonah. I remember thinking this was it, then. I was going to bite it in some horrible, piss filled alley. To be honest with you, a big part of me really didn't mind. I was getting really tired of the whole living thing, anyways. The last thing I remember thinking was that I hoped my family would never find out.
Then the world got set on pause for awhile. When my hearing and vision had returned, I heard a voice that was really angry sounding. But it wasn't my john. Someone else had joined the party.
I raised my head off the wet asphalt and squinted up at the new guy. All that registered at first was that he was really tall and had a deep voice. And he was standing between me and the john, all protective like. This was quite a surprise.
"I'm telling you, he mugged me. I was only defending myself." The john protested.
"Then we definitely should call the cops." Tall Guy said mildly. I groaned inwardly, as this was going to suck. Cops, as a rule, hate queers, especially queer hookers. They were never going to believe me over the john. Being part of the one percent always gives you a pass.
Then again, I suppose it was better than getting kicked to death.
However, I got another huge surprise from Tall Guy."Although I would like to hear you explain to them why your fly somehow got opened while being robbed." And it was. The john peered down stupidly at his crotch for a moment, stared at Tall Guy, and then suddenly turned on his heel and ran off.
I can't say I was sorry to see him leave.
By this time the dizziness had passed and I staggered to my feet. I wove around like a drunken sailor before being steadied by Tall guy, who grabbed my arm.
"Hey-hey. I don't think you should move, man." he said. "You're pretty messed up."
I shrugged out of his grip. "I'll be fine." I said firmly, or at least tried to. I backed away from to get closer to the street. "Look…thanks for, you know, jumping into a pretty fucked up situation. Most people would just walk on by. "
"Well, that's too damn bad." Tall Guy took a cautious step closer. "Look, buddy-let me call the cops to report that asshole, or take you to a hospital. You're bleeding."
That kind of shocked me. I cautiously touched my face where it was throbbing, and sure enough, my fingers came away warm and red and wet. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I began to really panic, which possibly explains why I got so snotty to my rescuer.
"Hey-cops don't give a shit about people like me! And I can't afford a hospital, okay? If I had a lot of money, I certainly wouldn't be blowing some asshole in an alley, right?" I hated the hysterical tone in my voice, but I just couldn't stop myself. "So, go home-you've done your Spider-Man superhero good deed for the night. Saved the whore from a dire fate. Why do you even give a shit?"
"Why not?" he said simply. And I have to admit, he sort of had me there. While I was chewing this over, he took another step closer, and I finally got a good look at his face from under the hood of his red sweatshirt. The streetlights showed someone young and boyish and handsome, the sort of guy I would daydream about before my life went to hell. I had to admit, it disarmed me a little.
"Look-if you won't go to a hospital, come to my apartment." he said softly. "I live only a block away. I have first aid kit, I can patch you up."
This guy was really too good to be fucking true. "What are you-some kind of missionary looking for holy brownie points?"
He gave me a slight, lopsided grin."Nope. Dude, you already figured it out-I'm Spider-Man. With great power comes great responsibility."
And I just had to laugh, I couldn't help it. It also sent a jolt of pain across my ribs. I tried to hide it, but I'm sure he saw. I also began to realistically weigh my options. I doubted a cab was going to pick up any guy who looked like he'd gone a few rounds at some fight club, and I was miles from home-my legs were too rubbery to walk it. I could have called Paolo, but I had no doubt that two-bit slut was doing some business uptown, and couldn't be bothered.
I sighed, and finally gave in. I've certainly done stupider things. "Okay. Who am I to argue with Peter Parker?"
"Good." I got another lopsided grin.
I slowly followed him, stepping out of the alley. He paused at the sidewalk for a moment, picking up a brown paper bag from the ground. He answered my inquisitive stare. "Just got off my shift, and was taking home some day-olds."
"So, my ass has been saved from some superhero doughnut maker?" I quipped.
His big, unexpected laugh echoed off the surrounding brick. "Not quite. Superhero barista."
"Must be all that caffeine, then, that makes you want to right wrongs." I said, trying very hard not to dizzily weave around the pavement.
"Must be." he said quietly. He reached out an arm "You need a little help…?"
"I can manage!" I snapped.
"Got it." He pulled his arm back like I was about to bite him.
Fortunately, his building was indeed only a block away. It was old and tired, like the rest of the neighborhood. He unlocked a rusty security door, which led into a shadowy foyer, lit by a faint bulb. My good samaritan then led me to an elevator, which looked unreliable as hell, a wonky steampunk contraption. "I'm on the fifth floor." Tall Guy said. "I have a feeling you don't want to tackle the stairs."
"I have a feeling you're right."
In the herky-jerky elevator, my skin began to prickle with fear. I never went to anyone's apartment unless I knew them, and since I was now messed up, I was pretty fucking vulnerable. Tall Guy had eagle scout written all over him, but then again, so did Ted Bundy. My heart began to hammer loudly in my chest. I was going to have to be on high alert, and try to get out of there as quickly as possible.
I decided a little bravado wouldn't be out of place. "So, what's your real name, Barista-Man?"
"Noah. Noah Mayer." he answered. I had to admit to myself it was a nice name that went with that nice face. "What's yours?"
Lately, I had been alternating between Jessie and Ryder-names I long ago imagined would grace my first novel. What a joke. But for some reason, "Luke," slipped out of my mouth, and I couldn't snatch it back.
He gave me another one of those stupid, disarming grins. "Nice to meet you, Luke."
Yeah, right. I thought. I'm sure you love hanging out with all kinds of rent boys. But I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
The elevator ground to a halt, and the door opened to a creepy, dank hallway. I tried again not to think of Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer as I followed Noah to his apartment door. I made note of the nearest exit.
The studio apartment was a bit of a surprise. First off, no chains hanging from the ceiling or torture racks-yea! It was painted in warm, dark reds and oranges, and there was barely any furniture-a simple wooden table and chairs, an old fashioned lamp, a bookshelf, an arm chair and a worn looking couch covered by a wool Indian blanket. For all its starkness, it was really clean and kind of homey, unlike the chaotic rat's nest that Paolo and I inhabited.
Noah threw his keys on the table and placed the bag there as well. As he did, a small shape rocketed out of what I guessed to be the bedroom. The movement made me jump, and I relaxed when I heard a frantic 'mewmewmew' and then watched as a little black and white cat dusted Noah's ankles.
"Hey Groucho-hey buddy." Noah leaned down to give his cat a brief pat, then he looked expectantly at me. "Let's get you fixed up, Luke-bathroom's this way."
I have to admit, I was shaking more than a little when we both went into the bathroom. It was all cold, greenish tile, like the bottom of the sea. Noah opened a cabinet door and pulled out a formidable looking first aid kit. As he was doing this, I caught a glimpse of myself. I looked the proverbial twenty miles of bad road, bruised and bloody. Worse part was my eyes. So hollow and dead. I never realized I looked so fucking old, even though I was just twenty-three. But that's all part of the lifestyle.
"Why don't you sit down?" Noah said quietly, indicating the toilet. I tore my eyes away from my reflection, embarrassed to have gotten caught staring, and plopped my butt on the john. Noah put on a pair of thin surgical gloves and started dabbing some antiseptic on a cotton ball. He reached towards my face, and I couldn't help it-I flinched.
"Luke…I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." Yeah, I'd heard that one before. I let out a breath and looked up, hoping for cocky and defiant, and stared up at him, right in the eyes. He stared right back at me. Those baby blues of his were determined, and I had to admit, kind. Truly a boy next door.
If he was a psycho, he was certainly concealing it well.
"Just a little nervous." I admitted.
"Well, I don't blame you." Noah touched my face again, delicately as you would a china tea cup, and tilted my head towards the light. Then he started carefully dabbing my forehead. It burned like fire, and I gave a loud hiss. "Sorry-sorry." Noah murmured. "I'll try and do this as quick as I can."
"So, you preparing for armageddon?" I said conversationally. "Looks like you've got enough supplies for Johns Hopkins."
"I guess it is a bit of an overkill, but old habits die hard-I was a paramedic." Noah chuckled and threw a couple of brightly stained cotton balls in a waste basket. He frowned down at me. "I think the bleeding has slowed down quite a bit, but I'm afraid you are going to need a couple of stitches."There was a short pause. "I could do it if you want. But the problem is, I don't have any localized painkillers."
I debated this for a moment. He still could be some random crazy, and this was gonna be the point that shit got real. Or he could have be telling the truth, and it would save me a doctor bill. I swallowed hard. "Just promise I'll have a cool scar."
He smiled. "You'll be as cool as Clint Eastward, man." He started rummaging around in the first aid kit again.
I tried not to look at the needle he was sterilizing. "So, how come you work as a barista, and not at a hospital, since you have all these mad doctor skills."
"Three tours of Afghanistan kind of soured me on the medical field as a whole." Noah threaded the needle and looked down at me. "Okay, Luke. Just hold still and trust me. You can swear if you want. It will be three stitches, tops."
"Just hurry the fuck up-okay?" I knew I was sounding ungrateful, but the idea of someone pushing a needle through my face was really freaking me out.
Noah got down to business without any more preamble, and I clutched the sides of the toilet so tight, I was surprised it didn't break. It fucking hurt. I also said a few phrases that would peel paint. But it was over pretty quickly, and Noah cleaned up the wound one more time and stuck a big bandage on my face.
"You did good, Luke." I snorted a little, as I was now drenched with cold sweat and felt like I was going to faint-some Clint Eastward I was. "Now would you let me take a look at your ribs and see if anything is broken? That guy was kicking the shit out of you."
I gulped down more panic. "It's okay, Noah. You've done enough already. Just lemme sit here for a minute. Then I'll call a cab and get out of your hair. "
Again, I got the determined blue eyes. "Luke-c'mon. You just let me sew up your face-poking at your ribs should be small potatoes."
He had a point. I managed to shrug off my old leather jacket, and with Noah's help, I pulled my tee over my head. I was shocked at how much blood was on it. I felt really strange and exposed as Noah gingerly felt my chest. I had a huge bruise forming on my right side, which was going to turn interesting colors later on. I could smell myself too, as I honestly hadn't had a shower in awhile. I felt the burn of shame.
Noah, if he noticed, made no comment. "I honestly don't think anything's broken, but you really should get a doctor to look at it to make sure." I restrained an eye roll. "So, what I can do is wrap it up to make you more comfortable, and we can put some ice on it to get the swelling to go down."
"Okay." At this point, I was ready to agree to anything just to get this over with.
Noah expertly wrapped a stretchy bandage tight around my chest, which I had to admit, helped. I started to reach for my soiled t-shirt, but Noah surprised me by shrugging off his hoodie and handing it to me. "Here-you don't want to put that on again." I wanted to argue, but I was shivering, so I pulled it on. It was a bit big on me, and it smelled good-like clean laundry and Noah's slightly spicy aftershave.
Noah packed up his first aid kit and reached out a hand to help me get off the toilet. Part of me wanted to just swat it away, but I knew I was pretty rubber-legged and unsteady, and my whole body was painfully throbbing. I was going to need a couple of minutes to recover before going back out in the cold to find a cab, so I had to continue to make nice.
Noah gently pulled me to my feet, and standing close, I realized just how tall he was, and what wide shoulders he had. He was wearing a baggy olive green t-shirt that read "Goldman's 24 Hour Deli" on the front, and it didn't completely disguise the hard muscle underneath.
I could smell that cologne and the soap on his skin. And for a very brief, tiny micro-second I saw a certain something flash in his eyes at my close proximity. Something all too familiar. I was both disappointed and elated at the same time, finally getting Saint Noah's number.
We left the bathroom and Noah said, "Why don't you sit down on the couch, and I'll get you some ice." He walked over to his tiny kitchenette and opened the freezer."I also have some Advil, but you should probably get something in your stomach. I brought home some bagels. I could also make some tea."
I plopped my ass on the sofa and glared at him. "You know, you can stop this bullshit any time now."
He paused and set an ice tray on the counter, turning to stare at me. "What are you talking about? What bullshit?"
"This nicey-nicey good samaritan act. I have to admit, you had me fooled for a little while bro, but you are like all the rest-you want me to fuck you or suck you. Pretty warped too, I might add. Most guys don't beat around the bush and just throw me a fifty. But you, pard, wanna feel good about yourself when the whore blows you out of gratitude." I gave a loud snort. "And you know, I DO owe you one. So let's get this over with-you want me here or in the bedroom?"
Noah's face flushed and suddenly, those eyes got really steely and narrow. "You know, you really are fucked up."
I glared back. "Well, man, it's been my experience that it's a really fucked up world. People love to use and abuse, and everybody, everybody wants something. You're no different, Mr. Noah Mayer. I admit, I'm not the prime piece of ass I was back in the day, but I can read you just like the front page of the Times. You want some of this." I waved my hand at my body."So, you a big ol' closet case? I've done plenty of those. Or just a straight guy wanting to experiment? Personally, I get a real repressed vibe off of you-I bet you are really into some kinky shit, right?"
He let out a long breath. "You know what-go to hell. I was feeling pretty bad for you because you obviously were in some trouble, but it's also obvious that you are a fucking asshole. And yeah, okay-I think you're attractive-you got me there. But Jesus, what kind of person hits on someone who's just been beaten up in a alley? Not everyone is like that, Luke-you've been hanging around the bottom feeders for far too long." He stormed over to the couch. "I helped you because it was the right thing to do, Luke. That's how I was brought up, and that's how I can look myself in the mirror, okay? So- either accept that it or not. I don't give a shit. I've had a long day at work, and it's two am and I don't deserve any more bullcrap." He frowned down at me. "You can either stay or go. I'd feel bad about someone in your condition walking around on the streets, but hey, that's your problem."
I swallowed, now feeling unexpectedly guilty. It started to dawn on me that I was maybe treating the first decent person I'd encountered in years like, well, shit. He also sounded a lot like a man I tried not to think about.
A man named Holden Snyder.
"Sorry." I mumbled, shrugging. " I'm just…wrung out and paranoid. Maybe you really are Spider-Man after all."
Noah's anger faded."Not even close, but it never hurts to try. So... how about that tea?"
I was amazed he wasn't tossing me out on my ear. "Sure-okay. And maybe one of those bagels too, if it's not too much trouble."
"You got it."
Noah returned to the kitchenette, where he first put on a kettle and then bagged up some ice in plastic to put on my ribs. While he was slicing up the bagels and pouring the tea, the little cat suddenly jumped on the sofa, purring, and holding a ragged toy mouse in his teeth. He was a funny looking little guy, with slightly crossed green eyes and a blobby black mustache that contrasted to the white of his face. I gave him a scritch behind the ears, and he responded by bumping my hand. It had been years since I had been around any animals, and I missed them.
"Pet him once and he's yours forever." Noah said with a fond chuckle. He set a plate full of buttered bagels in front of me on the coffee table, as well as two steaming cups of tea and a bottle of anvil. "I found that out the hard way. He followed me home from work one night and I've been stuck with him ever since." I could tell he didn't mind in the least.
The cat gave my hand another bump and decided to plop himself in my lap. "What's his name again?" I asked, trying to reach for the tea without disturbing the cat. I ended up flinching with pain and Noah kindly put the mug in my hand.
"Groucho." Noah said, taking his own tea and settling into the armchair.
"That's a weird name."
"Well, it's after Groucho Marx, you know?" I shook my head, drawing a blank. "Big mustache, cigar, attitude. Who said stuff like, "I intend to live forever, or die trying." and "Time flies like the wind, fruit flies like bananas."
I had to laugh, which hurt. "Sorry-still don't have a clue."
"Not surprised. Most people don't know what the hell I'm talking about when it comes to movies. I love old black and white ones." He took a sip of tea. "Promise me someday you'll see A Night at the Opera. Incredibly funny."
"Sure." I was pretty sure I never really would, since I mostly like movies where stuff gets blown up.
We had a short period of somewhat comfortable silence. Noah sipped his tea, I managed to eat half a bagel and down some Advil, and Groucho fell sound asleep in my lap. It was nice and toasty, and I began to dread going back outside. The prospect got worse when Noah looked up and pointed at the window. "Oh hey-it's snowing." He smiled wide, and it was little kid charming.
I had the opposite reaction, as I hate snow. Snow meant standing on freezing street corners and blowing johns in cars. I stared outside, and sure enough, there were big thick flakes falling through the sky like scattered feathers.
"Well, this should be my cue, then. I should get going before it gets any worse."I nudged Groucho off my lap and he made a little noise of protest.
Noah set his cup down on the table and looked at me with those eyes of his. "Luke-you don't have to go. Crash on my couch-it's okay. You can regroup in the morning."
It was incredibly tempting, although it also scared me for a lot of reasons. I blurted out the most obvious one."Look…Noah- I was an ass before, and I um, apologize. But I don't get why you would let a total stranger, especially one with an incredible amount of baggage in your apartment. I mean, I could rob you blind-or worse. It's kind of crazy."
He gave me a slight smile. "Well, first of all there's not much to steal, and I doubt you'd get a jump on me." I had a feeling he was right on that score. He had some serious guns under that long sleeved t-shirt "And as to why…" he gave a painful swallow. "Well-I've been in a place where people shoot at you, blow each other up. After a while, it felt pretty fucking senseless and hopeless. I mean, I would patch people up and they'd get killed two weeks later. So…maybe this is crazy, but it's a lot less insane then some of the other stuff I've been through. And-I dunno-it feels good to help someone out. Simple as that."
I couldn't come up with much of an argument. I also suddenly got the strong feeling that things weren't all that hunky-dory in Noah land, which was unusual for me. I didn't have time to worry much about other people, being too busy, well, surviving. I makes you more than a little selfish.
But Noah, with his bagels and first aid kit and Groucho cat-he made me a bit curious. He made me care. And that hadn't happened in ages. So I blurted out a question.
"How long have you been, um, stateside?"
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. "Three months. It still seems pretty weird, going from crazy Kabul to serving coffee at Goldman's. I still get nervous walking around parked cars or in crowds. I sleep a little better though-don't miss twenty guys snoring and farting in a tent." He suddenly yawned. "Sorry. I'm about ready to drop, and I bet you are, too. Fortunately, I get to sleep in tomorrow-still can't believe I got the holiday off."
"Holiday?" I asked stupidly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Luke-it's Thanksgiving."
"Oh." I honestly hadn't a clue. "I uh, have never been one for the holidays. " Haunted by too many memories.
Noah's face was softened with understanding, which made me feel all prickly and weird. "Neither have I, really." I waited for a further explanation, but none came. Instead, Noah stood up. "I'll go get you an extra pillow and another blanket." he said, leaving the room.
I was kind of relieved the conversation was at an end, since I was suddenly so damn tired. Noah got me settled on the couch, and it made me think of all the times mom or Emma parked me on the sofa when I was sick, juice box and teddy bear within easy reach, a million years ago. When I was happy and loved and safe, a million years ago.
"Sleep as long as you like, Luke." Noah said as he switched off the lamp."Good night."
I could make out his tall silhouette as he moved towards his bedroom. "Noah..?"
"Yeah?"
I made myself say it."Thanks." What I didn't say was, "Thanks for caring when no one else would. For taking me home and patching me up. For saving my life." Those words were still too hard.
"You're welcome." Noah answered, before halfway closing his bedroom door.
I stared out at the snow, getting thicker by the minute, and felt grateful for being someplace warm. I was startled for a second when Groucho jumped on the sofa again, then flinched when he climbed on my sore ribs.
"You're a pest." I said as he gave mew, and curled up on my chest.
I fell asleep to the sound of purring.
To be continued...