EMS

The warm light of late afternoon poured through the high north windows of the studio. Donovan Moore cleared his worktable methodically. Wiped his tools down with chamois. Placed two of the oddly shaped figures he had molded on plaster bats to set up and dry; flattened the rejects, rolled them together and returned them to the pile of moist clay in the plastic lined bin. Closed the lid firmly.

Donovan had just scrubbed the residue of clay off his hands when the phone rang.

"How's your houseguest?"

"Hello to you too, Jay," Donovan said, amused. "Asleep. You and Maurice certainly throw exciting parties these days. I assume Maurice filled you in?"

"He did. Damn it, Donovan, you've got 'sucker' tattooed on your forehead." Jay's voice was tinged with exasperation.

"Did Maurice tell you what the kid looked like?"

"Maurice said you were upset," Jay said in a non-committal voice. "Look, Donovan, Pete likes to play rough. Loren's over twenty-one. Consenting adults and all that shit, you know?"

"Safe, sane, not abusive. The man's a menace, Jay."

"Donovan, I've seen Loren around the scene for awhile now. He's a slut. Pete's a prick, but he's one of us," Jay said calmly.

"He's a fucking sadist. You can tell him from me that if he touches Loren again, I will ruin him. " Donovan scowled into the phone. "And Jay? Pete isn't one of us."

"You don't need this, Donovan. I know you from way back. You see hurt, you want to comfort. Loren needs a firmer hand. Cut him loose."

"He needs me, " Donovan said curtly. "I'm keeping him, Jay."

"Shit. Look, it's your call, Donovan. Tell me if I can do anything."

"Thanks, Jay. He's just a brat. He'll grow up. He just needs a little help."

"A lot of help. Is he clean, Donovan?"

"He will be." Donovan thought of the glassine envelope he had emptied, and winced.

"Just as long as you're on top of it. Is he working? " Jay asked.

Donovan snorted.

"Why am I not surprised? I can call a few of the galleries I deal with regularly and see if they have anything open. I'll let you know what I find. And Donovan...good luck."

"Chaque a son gout," Donovan laughed. "Thanks, Jay."

Donovan hung up the phone; headed upstairs to the bedroom to check on the subject of his conversation.

The shades were down; the curtains drawn. The room was cool and dark; the bed warm and comfortable. Loren burrowed deeper into his pillow, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder,

Donovan shook him again. Loren had slept most of the day; it was time for him to get up. Loren needed to be eased into a normal schedule.

"Up you go, Loren. Comb your hair and let's get some dinner." Donovan ran his hand gently over Loren's tawny rat's nest of hair.

"Don't want to," Loren mumbled sullenly, his eyes screwed determinedly shut.

"I'll get the hairbrush, then," Donovan said briskly, confidently ignoring Loren's sulking. Surely a good meal at a nice restaurant would lift Loren's mood.

Loren jerked away from Donovan, suddenly wide-awake and agitated.

"No! Donovan, no! Don't hit me!" Loren's panic-stricken wail was as unexpected as it was disturbing. "I'll comb my hair! Give me another chance!"

"Loren, what's wrong?" Donovan asked, deliberately softening his own voice. He thought back to his last sentence.

"I'll get the hairbrush." Oh.

"Loren! Listen to me," Donovan took Loren by the shoulders; forced Loren to face him. "I am NOT going to hit you."

"My fucking bitch mom used to! All the time! That's why they took me away," Loren spat out bitterly.

"Come here now, calm down," Donovan coaxed, quiet sympathy in his voice.

"Fuck you, Donovan, fuck you! I never think about this shit, never!" Loren struck blindly at Donovan

"Easy, Loren, you're safe. I'll never hurt you." Donovan's voice stayed steady, reassuring.

Loren studied Donovan's face warily; saw he was telling the truth.

"Are you going to spank me again?" Loren asked sadly.

"Why would I spank you?" Donovan asked curiously.

"Because I threw a fucking tantrum?" Loren hazarded nervously.

"Loren, you were frightened. I'll never punish you for being afraid. Come in the kitchen."

Loren looked at Donovan doubtfully. Kitchens could be dangerous territories.

"Come on, Loren, sit with me while I scramble us some eggs. We'll eat in tonight. Don't look so scared. I'm not going to punish you."

"You sure, Donovan? You're not just looking for a wooden spoon?" Loren asked, cocking his head to the side, half-kidding, half deadly serious.

Loren's flip question told Donovan a great deal.

"Yeah, Loren, I'm sure. Come now."

Donovan sat at the table with Loren, making light conversation, occasionally prompting Loren to eat. Putting food in front of Loren and getting that food into Loren were two quite different things. Donovan made a mental note to have Loren weigh in. Loren's lack of appetite worried him.

Loren clearly did not want to talk about what he had revealed of his past. Donovan had no intention of pushing him. The conversation shifted naturally to contemporary art. Loren's brief glimpse of Maurice and Jay's apartment had confirmed that like many of Pete's social contacts, the two men were serious collectors.

"You wouldn't believe how much that shit costs. Some artists make a shitload of money," Loren said sagely. "Pete collected all sorts of shit. There's this one guy who makes metal sculptures of pieces of bodies. Pete says they're going to be worth real money one day. I think they look like he got loose in the morgue."

"Maybe you'd like to stop talking now," Donovan said, trying not to laugh. He didn't want to make Loren feel as if he were being patronized. "I'm the guy who did those sculptures."

Loren gaped at him.

"Oh shit, I thought for a minute you were serious. That's really funny. He's a real big deal, you know, shows with a gallery and teaches and..."

Loren looked at Donovan's expression and swallowed hard.

"You are serious," he said in a soft voice. "Oh shit. Oh man. You're going to kill me."

"Loren, I'm not mad at you." Donovan refrained from adding that Loren's was hardly an educated opinion, or a critique he took seriously. "How the hell did Pete get my sculptures, anyway?"

"From the gallery?" Loren looked at Donovan blankly.

So the abusive bastard is playing fast and loose at work as well, thought Donovan to himself. I am going to enjoy seeing him go down.

"Are you sure you had enough to eat, Loren?" Donovan asked.

Loren had barely touched his plate.

"I'm really not hungry. My stomach aches. I'm sorry, Donovan." Loren licked his lips nervously, remembering the spanking he had gotten that morning.

"Loren, breathe." Donovan could tell pretty closely what Loren was worried about. "I'm not going to punish you for not eating when you don't feel well. Here, I'll make you some chamomile tea. Maybe that will help." He put the kettle up to boil; deftly scooped dried chamomile into a glass teapot.

"Chamomile tea?" Loren eyed Donovan doubtfully.

Donovan poured the fresh boiled water over the desiccated chamomile flowers and set the brew aside to steep.

"Go on, Loren, wash up and get into bed; I'll bring you your tea."

Stripped to his underwear, Loren huddled into the bed. He wondered nervously if Donovan planned to fuck him tonight. He was tired and his stomach hurt.

"Sit up, Loren, here's your tea." Donovan plumped the pillows behind Loren and handed him the cup. "Be careful, it's hot."

Loren sipped the pale tea; made a face. It didn't taste very good and the hot liquid made his stomach cramp painfully.

"Put your cup down for a moment," Donovan said, seeing Loren's uncomfortable grimace. "Stretch out; show me where it hurts."

"Do I have to?" Loren shivered apprehensively. "Please Donovan, I know you like medical scenes, but I fucking hate them." He looked away.

"Is that what you think this is, Loren?" Donovan asked, puzzled. "A medical scene?"

"Yeah, like the other night, when we did that scene in the doctor's office," Loren whispered. "You made me let him examine me. I was shit scared."

"Goddamnit!" Donovan swore under his breath, aware of his own rising feelings of repulsion and disgust. He had made a major blunder

"I'm sorry," Loren said reflexively. He could tell that Donovan was upset, but he had no idea why.

"Loren, if I'd known that's what you thought it was, I would never have..."

Donovan stroked Loren's light brown hair gently back from his worried gray eyes.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Loren. I'm angry at myself, not at you. We'll talk about this later, " Donovan said, taking a deep breath. Now was not the time. Loren was in pain and needed his help. "Come on, little one, show me where it hurts."

"I hate this," Loren said miserably. He placed his hand on his lower abdomen.

Rolling Loren onto his left side, Donovan stretched out behind Loren and spooned Loren against him. Rubbed slow, soothing clockwise circles on Loren's stomach with a warm, deliberately heavy hand.

"How's that?" Donovan asked softly.

"'T'sokay," Loren sniffled. In his entire life no one had ever made Loren feel the way Donovan did. Special. Cared about. Safe. Loren relaxed into Donovan's embrace, wondering at Donovan's gentleness. Donovan continued to massage his belly until Loren drifted into sleep.

Donovan stood cautiously, his mouth acid with regret. Safe, sane and consensual were the watchwords of his creed. That Loren had misinterpreted Maurice's emergency physical as play, that he had felt coerced into a frightening medical scene, sickened Donovan.

Donovan touched Loren's face in sad, silent apology and quietly left the room.

Loren slept on.

"Shit! Fuck! No!" Loren tried to evade the persistent hand shaking him awake.

"Come on, Loren, that's it, wake up now," Donovan coaxed. "Coffee's on, come have some breakfast."

Loren choked back further expletives, remembering the spanking he had gotten the previous morning. He had no intention of provoking Donovan again. Sleepily, he rolled out of bed, used the bathroom and headed downstairs.

Loren eyed the table of fruits and breads with a jaundiced eye. He really, really wasn't hungry.

"Eat something," Donovan prompted, placing a mug of coffee in front of Loren.

Loren reached for a roll; took a small bite. Looked at Donovan nervously.

"Good boy," Donovan said reassuringly. "You're doing fine, Loren."

Loren let out his breath.

"I've got to put in at least a couple of hours in the studio today," Donovan said conversationally. "You can watch TV or use the computer or listen to music while I'm working. There're books and there're newspapers. Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen. I want you to feel at home. The only thing I ask is that you stay put. You are not allowed to leave the house. Got it?"

"Yes, Donovan," Loren said. It sounded easy enough.

By eleven o'clock Loren was thoroughly frustrated. He paced restlessly. What the fuck was he supposed to do while Donovan was in the studio doing whatever the fuck he did? At least Pete had always left him a little something to smoke or sniff or swallow...

Loren clicked through the cable channels impatiently. Paused at the computer, logged into his email for the fifth time.

Pay dirt; he had a message!

Loren, Lunch usual place. Pete

Loren hesitated a moment. Donovan had told him in no uncertain terms to stay put. But he was bored and lonely, and the thought of Pete made him shiver with desire.

Who the fuck knew whether Donovan was serious about keeping him? Better to leave his options open...

Stealthily, Loren let himself out the front door.

"You did all right for yourself, Loren," Pete said. "So how do you like fucking the big, important artist? He beat you yet, Loren? You know he plays, don't you? Heavy games."

Pete watched Loren try to keep his face expressionless. Stupid little fuck.

"I know you miss me, you slut. You're mine, Loren. I love you."

Love. The word washed over Loren like a sluice of warm water. Loren leaned into Pete with a wistful sigh.

For a brief moment, Pete let him enjoy the illusion of affection.

Without warning, Pete slapped Loren across the face, his full weight behind the blow.

Loren reeled back. Slowly, dazed, he wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He knew better than to protest.

"You fucking little cunt, did you think I'd let you walk away from me?" Pete hissed.

"But YOU left ME..." Loren gulped.

"Shut up, Loren. I own you. Come along now if you know what's good for you. Don't make me hit you again."

What choice do I have? Loren thought sickly, already anticipating the pain he knew was coming. Pete loved him. Donovan didn't even want to fuck him.

"Please don't hurt me." Even as he spoke, Loren realized the futility of his words.

Pete's apartment was relentlessly modern. Furnished in metal and glass, it was devoid of comfort, like the man himself.

"You know what to do, boy."

"Yes, sir," Loren said softly. He stripped, dropping his clothing in a neat pile. Knelt before Pete, his eyes down, his hands on his thighs.

"Who owns you, boy?" Pete tangled his hand in Loren's hair; jerked his head back cruelly.

"You do, sir."

Pete slapped Loren with his free hand, smiled coldly as Loren whimpered.

The intercom buzzed loudly.

Releasing Loren, Pete slammed the button impatiently.

"Yes?" he snapped. "What the fuck do I pay for security for then? Assholes!" He glared at Loren.

"It seems your artist friend is on the way up. You're a lucky little bastard, you know that? Get up, you fucking bitch. Get your clothes on and get out of here!"

The bell pealed. Pete yanked the door open.

"Saint Donovan! What an unexpected pleasure!" Contempt dripped from Pete's voice. "Loren, I hope he beats the shit out of you. I know Donovan hits harder than I ever could." He shoved Loren through the door and slammed it behind him.

Loren stumbled forward. Donovan caught him before he could fall.

"It's all right, Loren. I've got you now. Let's go home." Resolutely, Donovan forced thoughts of the revenge he would like to inflict on Pete out of his mind.

Loren allowed Donovan to buckle him into his car. He was silent throughout the ride home. He followed Donovan passively into the house.

"Do you know why Pete did this to you, Loren?" Donovan asked very gently, studying Loren's dull, reddened eyes, his bruised cheek, the black crust of dried blood under his nostrils.

"I'm bad?" Loren whispered. "Donovan, are you going to punish me? Are you going to beat me, too?"

Donovan stroked Loren's pale, tear-stained cheeks with gentle fingers. It wasn't the first time Pete had suckered some wounded kid into believing he deserved to be beaten.

"You are not bad. And I will never beat you, Loren," Donovan said firmly. "That's a promise. We are not going to talk about punishment tonight. You are going to have a bath, eat dinner and go to sleep."

"But Donovan--" Loren protested.

"Bath, dinner, sleep. That's it. Nothing else. Do you understand me?"

Loren nodded mutely. It was inexpressibly comforting to know Donovan had him in hand.

Donovan ushered Loren into the bathroom and seated him on the closed toilet seat. Started the water running.

"Can you get undressed yourself or do you want me to help you?" Donovan asked softly.

Loren was too far gone to move or even speak.

"Stand up," Donovan coaxed, drawing Loren's shirt over his head. He undid Loren's fly, helped him step out of his jeans. Hooked his finger under the elastic of his briefs and tugged them off.

Loren tensed as Donovan eased him into the tub. The warm water soothed his raw nerves. Donovan used his cupped hand to wash Loren down.

"Let's get you out before you get chilled," Donovan said as the bath water started to cool. Helping Loren upright, he wrapped him in a soft, old towel. Loren leaned into Donovan, trembling with his effort not to cry.

"It's all right," Donovan said gently. "Cry if you need to. You're safe here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

Turning down the bed, Donovan coaxed Loren into lying down on his side. He found an old, soft pair of sweats and helped Loren into them.

"You're being good, Loren," Donovan said approvingly. "You stay put now. I'll bring you something to eat."

Donovan returned with a bowl of chicken soup. Seating himself on the bed, he drew Loren into a semi-upright position. Holding the soup in front of Loren, he handed him a spoon.

"Eat, Loren."

Obediently, Loren dipped his spoon into the soup. His hand shook too badly to convey it to his mouth.

Donovan took the spoon from Loren's hand and fed him slowly and carefully.

Loren swallowed each spoonful convulsively, grateful for the warm broth.

Rising, Donovan pushed Loren gently into the pillows and tucked sheet and blanket lightly over him.

"Sleep, Loren, just sleep. You're safe now. I've got you."

Despite the bright light streaming into the well-ordered kitchen, breakfast was a somber meal. Loren picked fitfully at his toast. Donovan sighed. There was no point in pushing Loren to eat when he was this nervous.

"Come, Loren. I'm sure you want to get this over with as much as I do."

Donovan propelled Loren into the living room with a firm hand above his elbow.

"Why am I going to punish you, Loren?" Donovan asked quietly.

Silence.

"You can answer me now, Loren, or you can stand in the corner until you're ready to talk."

No response.

Donovan took Loren gently by the arm and turned him face into the corner.

Loren kicked the wall angrily.

Donovan swatted him smartly.

"Kick the wall again and I'll smack you again, Loren."

Oops. Loren stood very still.

"Why would you go with Pete, Loren?"

"He said I had to!"

"So you did, just like that? Is that the way it is? I can't trust you alone for a few hours?"

"He said he loved me," Loren whispered.

"You foolish, foolish boy. What does Pete mean by 'I love you'?"

Loren didn't answer.

"When I tell you to stay put, you stay put. If you want to leave this relationship, Loren, all you have to do is tell me. Face to face, man to man. I don't own you. But you have to talk to me. You do not run away from me."

Loren struggled ineffectually against Donovan's snug grip as Donovan ushered him over to his chair. Seating himself, Donovan tipped Loren forward over his lap and tugged his sweat pants to his knees. Used his leg to pin Loren firmly in place.

"You stay put when I tell you to stay put. You do not run away from me, Loren," Donovan said, accompanying each word with a short, sharp swat.

"I will! I won't!" Loren promised, desperately.

Donovan spanked hard, methodically covering every inch of Loren's tense and flinching ass.

Every smack made Loren writhe. How the fuck he'd ever thought Donovan's hand wouldn't hurt, he didn't know.

"Please, Donovan! Don't spank me any more!" Loren sobbed, sore and upset.

Oh fuck, oh shit, it hurt.

Donovan gritted his teeth and forced himself to complete another circuit of smacks. He wanted to be sure that Loren would not forget this lesson easily.

"All right now, Loren. All done. All forgiven," Donovan murmured, resting his cupped hand lightly on Loren's thigh.

"You hurt me," Loren whimpered.

Donovan repressed a sigh. He drew Loren's slender body into his lap, smoothed his hair back from his wet, gray eyes. Smudged the tear tracks on Loren's cheek with a gentle, practiced gesture.

"Stay put, Loren. I'm going to get you a washcloth and a drink." Donovan eased Loren into the chair.

Loren watched numbly as Donovan disappeared into the kitchen. He was surprised when Donovan returned immediately with the promised items.

Very gently, Donovan tilted Loren's head back, used the cool washcloth to wipe the tears and snot from Loren's face. Held the glass of juice to Loren's lips.

"Drink a little," Donovan coaxed. Loren gulped thirstily.

Donovan slid back into the chair and resettled Loren in his lap, stroking his damp hair out of his pale, wan face. Loren buried his head in the warm hollow between Donovan's neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Donovan," Loren whispered almost inaudibly. He wanted desperately to make things okay between them.

Impulsively, Loren sank to his knees before Donovan, pressed his lips to Donovan's fly. His hands gripped the back of Donovan's thighs; his teeth sought Donovan's zipper.

"No! Loren, that's not what I want from you!" The anger in Donovan's voice caught Loren unaware.

Loren cringed back, his arm coming up to protect his face. He shivered. He was confused and disappointed by Donovan's reaction to his offer of sex. He didn't know what he had done wrong, nor how to make it right.

"It's all right, Loren. I'm not going to hit you. You're safe. " Donovan said quietly.

Loren looked at Donovan, taking in his powerful muscled arms. His broad shoulders. Wondered at the big man's gentleness.

Donovan felt Loren's eyes on him. He reached slowly for Loren and folded him into a hug. Felt Loren tense for a moment, then melt against him.

"Loren, you are so very special to me," Donovan said huskily. He leaned in and kissed Loren's barely parted lips. Opened Loren's mouth with a gentle, insistent tongue.

Loren gave way willingly to his kiss, widening his mouth cooperatively.

"Please fuck me," Loren begged, his eyes filling with tears.

"Why are you crying, Loren?" Donovan asked gently, stroking Loren's cheek. Tears spilled over his fingers, trickled down the fair skin.

"Don't you want me, Donovan?" Loren implored. "We don't do anything. You don't fuck me."

For an answer, Donovan drew Loren even closer. Kissed him again, full and hard.

"Loren, I'd love to make love to you. But you need time to figure out what you want. You've been hurt and used too many times. I want you to know you can say no, before I believe you when you say yes."

"I don't get you, Donovan." Loren shook his head. "You talk too much. I need you. I want you to fuck me."

"Give it up, brat," Donovan said gently. "We're not having sex until I say we're ready. We have plenty of time, Loren. As long as you don't run away, we have plenty of time." Donovan stroked Loren's hair tenderly.

Loren took a deep breath. Gingerly, mindful of his smarting butt, Loren curled sideways into the haven of Donovan's lap. Closing his eyes, Loren rested his head trustfully on Donovan's warm chest.

"I won't run away again, Donovan. I'll be good this time. I promise."

***FIN***