The nightmares had been increasing. Always, he was running. Running from shadows, running from shapes that formed in the rain. And always, he tripped, scraping against the ground, never knowing if he would be able to get up again. He would feel pains in his ass and on his groin, like a fire starting on his skin. Or he'd be ambushed by a dark figure who would hold him down and blow him. At first it would be okay, but then the figure's mouth would become icy, and Justin's penis would feel fragile as if it would break off.

They had said that he needed to see a doctor. A psychiatrist. But no -- he wasn't crazy, he couldn't be. He wouldn't let those Freudian bastards near him. No fucking happy pills, no fucking crying sessions, no fucking doctor analyzing him.

Especially not after what he went through with Chris.

Chris had noticed his moods, noticed the way he stopped talking to everyone. How he shut himself in his room and played the same damn Rammstein CD over and over again. He withdrew from everyone, interacting only when he had to. So every chance he had, Chris exercised his psychology degree and tried to figure out what was wrong. "Justin?" he would say. "Are you feeling okay?" "Justin, do you want to talk about it?" "Justin, will you turn off that music and let me in?"

Justin was happy to see that Chris had noticed, but didn't want to talk about it. Chris soon became Justin's shadow, following him around, keeping him company, even if they didn't say anything. One night he caught Justin in a vulnerable moment. He found Justin on his bed, as per usual, but this time he was crying. He came over to the bed and sat close to Justin and draped an arm around his shoulders. Justin collapsed in Chris' embrace, and Chris found himself kissing curls to help ease the pain. Justin relaxed under Chris' care and curls were replaced by lips.

He needed this badly. Like a drug. Like Chris was fucking heroin. And when Chris entered him, it felt like a needle would pushing into a vein. Chris' release was the plunger sinking down, releasing the craved fluid into his body.

That sonofabitch had some nerve. After fucking him senseless, Chris had called him a no-good, slutty piece of trailer trash. THEN he had the nerve to act like nothing had happened. And probably only did so because he felt guilty about what he had done. He despised Chris for it. He thought Chris had loved him. That's why he let Chris fuck him. And although it was locked in the deepest rooms of his heart, Justin had loved Chris back, but it didn't matter. Not anymore.

He cut another wound, this time into his palm, and fixed his eyes on the horizon as the blood dripped through his fingers. The sun wouldn't be up for hours, but there was already a bluish tint to the otherwise black sky.

He had gotten away. Hopped the first plane -- which happened to be to Russia. From St. Petersburg, he hitchhiked to wherever the driver would take him. He ended up in the barren steppe of Siberia.

One of the men who had given Justin a ride had been a handsome blonde with green eyes. He reminded him of Lance, only older with squared features. And his eyes were a darker green. The man had a sweet smile, which widened when he opened the car door for Justin. He didn't know English, and spoke Russian while motioning for Justin to get in the car. He got in and the man said a few more words in Russian, then hesitated and noticed that Justin didn't understand him. He pointed to his crotch then made a motion with his hand toward his mouth.

Justin lowered his eyes, grinning. What had he to lose. The man was attractive, but it didn't matter. He looked up, the man's eyes like question marks. "Blow job," he said.

"Blow job," the man repeated.

Justin nodded his head and moved towards the man, reaching for his pants. The man scooted the seat back and allowed Justin more head room. Justin freed the man of his underwear and smiled at the surprise of an uncut penis. Something he had seen, but not sucked. He stroked the man first, then slowly bent down, his mouth eager. He swirled his tongue around, slipping under the flap of flesh around the head. The man moaned and put his hand gently on Justin's head. He pulled off his cap and sighed and ran his fingers through soft, curly hair as Justin moved all the way down.

The man muttered something in Russian -- something perhaps translated into "Oh God." Justin massaged the man's testicles, and he muttered again. This time, Justin thought it might me something about the devil -- one word coming out like "deyavol." The man thrust into Justin's mouth and he knew that the man was close. He sucked hard on the tip while stroking the base. The man yelled out and Justin felt salty warmth fill his mouth. He swallowed and finished off the orgasm with teeth grazed along the man's penis. Justin sat up and the man lightly kissed him.

Justin woke up in darkness several hours later to someone shaking him. He opened his eyes and the Russian smiled. He spoke to him again, and Justin figured he was saying this was as far as he could take him. Justin nodded. The man then put a hand on his shoulder and gestured with the other at Justin's crotch. He crawled into the back seat, pulling Justin with him. The man kissed him gently at first, then more frantically as he reached his hands down to Justin's pants. Once his pants were down, the man went to work on sucking him off. Justin placed his hand on the man's shoulders and moaned. He stopped after an agonizing few minutes and Justin didn't open his eyes, but heard the sound of the man taking his own pants off. He opened his eyes to watch two of his fingers slip inside the Russian's mouth, and he knew what the man wanted.

Justin turned the man around and slipped the two slicked fingers into his anus. The man moaned and reached around to grab Justin, impatient to feel himself filled. Justin withdrew his fingers and guided his penis in. The man muttered to the devil again and Justin wrapped his arms around the man's stomach, thrusted in. He cried loudly against the neck of the Russian and didn't take long to shoot into his ass. The Russian had taken care of his own erection, and was forcing the last strands of semen out of it. Justin clung to his back, not wanting to let go. He repressed a sob and leaned forward to kiss the man on the cheek. He withdrew, and they set about straightening their clothes and getting back into the front seat.

They sat in silence and darkness, still in the heat of a hot fuck. After a few minutes, the Russian pulled Justin into a deep kiss, and when he let go, he opened the car door to let him out. Justin smiled and knew that his journey was almost over. The man smiled back.

"Do svidanya," he said, and Justin understood.

"Do svidanya," he returned, and shut the door.

It was the coldest fucking place on earth that Justin had ever been to. His eyeballs became like ice cubes in his head and he quickly lost feeling in his toes. He wasn't dressed too warmly, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to be warm to do what he was going to do.

Before he left, he had grabbed his Bible -- the only thing that comforted him lately. Not that he believed in half of it anymore, but he enjoyed reading it over and over again. It was a habit. He ditched the bible in Petersburg, but he had memorized a particular line from Deuteronomy.

"The Lord shall smite thee with madness, and blindness, and astonishment of heart..."

He repeated it, and figured that it must now apply to him -- his mind corroding, his eyes filling with tears, his heart perishing.

He slid the blade further down his arm and hoped for a fatal cut this time. His fingers were numb, and he had a hard time applying pressure to make the mark deep. The moisture on his face froze and he coughed -- he couldn't get air into his lungs. He fell to his knees, and the frost around him scattered.

He probably didn't cut deep enough, but it didn't matter. The cold took over him, he felt it pull on his insides, slowly causing his body to fail. He coughed again, and a small spray of blood stained the air. He laid on his side, and warmth surrounded him. He wondered how death could be so warm.

End.

Originally written as an *Mprov on 11/8/00, with the words deuteronomy, trailer trash, nightmares, steppe, shining.