Sanctuary


by Ranger

Sanctuary. It's a discreet club on the outskirts of town, selective and fairly exclusive. Although the boss allows youngsters in - more or less hand picked youngsters - who crash about in the early, puppy stages of manhood, they are the right kind of kids who will grow up eventually into Sanctuary clients. It's down to the management. A year ago when I came looking for work I sat on the other side of the desk and watched Don Grant's eyes take me in from head to foot.

"You're rather intelligent for this job." he said courteously. An immaculate man, somewhat older than me in his mid thirties. He was dark and built like an athlete. And from what I'd seen of his secretary, a gentle, grey eyed boy who was clearly also his lover, he liked intelligent people around him.

"I'm looking for part time work."

"May I ask what other employment you hold?"

So polite. Real old-world courtesy. It was all in that cool, oh so civilised voice, and I liked him.

"I'm a writer. Free lance. I'd like to spend more time on it, but I need a job that will reliably pay the bills."

Near enough the truth. He surveyed me. His secretary brought in three mugs of coffee and leant against the windowsill, his grey eyes far less demanding. Actually, Mike had decided I was going on the pay roll the minute he met me, and Don never had a hope once Mike made up his mind, but that's another story.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sheffield."

"Have you been in this line of work before?"

"Michael." Don said mildly. Mike smiled at him.

"Sorry."

"Once or twice." I told them both. "I understand this club is rather different to the usual."

"We employ several unusual bouncers." Don said at last. "Most of our staff are unusual people. Perhaps exceptional might be a better word. Might I ask if you have any formal training in self defence?"

I offered him my references. Three years as a body guard. Don's eyebrows rose.

"Very well." he said at last. "If you shadow one of our working bouncers tonight, you will gather an idea of your duties and responsibilities."

They cover a little more than the average bouncer's. Sorting out clientele on the door. Turning away the ones who have stumbled in by mistake, the ones who aren't genuine. The ones come to prey on the inexperienced. Picking out the occasional genuine customer in a crowd of unsuitables. Watching out for youngsters and keeping an eye on who they go home with. Keeping an eye on how much they drink and when alcohol starts to affect experience and confidence. Watching out for the few in trouble. Don keeps quite an extensive first aid kit. It was good work and I enjoyed it. I also enjoyed the close staff Don employed. There were six bouncers apart from me, and I made several good friends, including Don and Mike themselves. There was more to Mike than met the eye: a fracas started one night and Mike dived in before the rest of us got there. My heart sank as I charged to the rescue. Mike's a bare five foot seven and built like a kid: he was lost in the middle of the thugs he was headed for. But then he started shouting and I and everyone else in the club froze on the spot. I've never seen a kid lose it like that. He scattered those hooligans in twenty seconds flat. They were out of the door long before Don came down from the office on the run, grabbed hold of Mike and stopped him following them into the street. I wasn't near enough to hear what was being said, but it took him several minutes to calm Mike down and get him out of sight. I made a few tactful inquiries and picked up the general idea that Mike had some sort of a past, but it was still a mystery. It was also intreiguing that Don had the reputation of being a Top and a half, and yet he handled Mike as if he was made of cut glass. I'd yet to hear his voice so much as cool when he spoke to him.

I came to hear about Mike and Don's story in time, but it took a while to get to know them that well. I had my hands full for the six months I was building that friendship with them, and I had my mind on plenty of things other than Mike. Jamie Hamilton hit my life like a hurricane on October 6th, 1997 and more or less blew it apart.

I'd been working about six weeks when I found a note in the log book from Brett, last night's duty doorman.

Kid. Sandy hair, green eyes, slight build, early twenties. Raving lunatic. Keep an eye out for him.

There was no word as to what he'd done, or if Brett simply thought he was worth eyeing up. Someone else was on the door that night: I was on duty in the main hall, and I picked out the kid in the first hour. He was the one in tight jeans with incredibly bright eyes, like a kid from a smartie advert, and he was trying to walk the gantry rail.

He seemed to be part of a large group of boys, most of whom were watching him with tolerant resignation. I got up the steps smartly enough to grab him before he fell, and requested him politely and firmly in tones that penetrate inebriate fogs, to Get Down.

The bright eyes flashed at me. I realised in shock that the kid was stone cold sober. He balanced delicately, arms outstretched, and gave me a smile that was like being hit in the face with a mallet.

"It's sweet of you to worry, but I never fall." he said engagingly. A lock of hair had slipped across his forehead and into his eyes. He looked about ten and a half. I found my voice softening rapidly.

"Yes, but-"

"I'm sorry to drag you up here. You shouldn't have worried."

What???

Another sweet smile and he went on strolling along the rail. I stood where I was, surrounded by looks of sympathy from his friends who weren't even trying to intervene. Long legs, ending in a tight, curved backside, made they way to the steep slope where the rail protected customers from a ten foot drop to the dance floor. I woke up, jumped the last few steps to him and grabbed his wrist.

"Get down please."

"I will in a minute." he said reasonably.

"Now."

"I'm just going to the end. I'll be ever so careful."

It seemed so logical. So sincere. Green eyes looked down at me, as trusting and innocent as Bambi.

"I want you to get down." I said, trying to stick to my point.

"Why?" he asked curiously, arms outstretched as he wobbled.

"Because you'll fall."

"I never fall." he promised, lost his balance and fell. I still had hold of his wrist. I felt him start to go and pulled hard enough to drag him towards me rather than the plummet down to the dance floor. He landed on his feet in front of me. I heard the intake of breath around us. My own heart was pounding. He looked up, eyes surprised for a minute, then he laughed. It was not a derisive or gratuitous laugh. Just a simple, kid response to something funny. It broke the spell for me. I was suddenly and seriously annoyed. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him around to face me, darkening my eyes and my voice.

"Right. You do that again and I'll throw you out. Understand me? While I'm on duty you stay on the floor."

"Yes." The eyes were amused but sincere on mine. "I'm sorry. I hardly ever fall.

"Floor." I repeated sharply. "What's your name?"

"Jamie."

This had to be Brett's lunatic.

I expected him to be more or less sane for the rest of the evening. Now I know him, I know it was a totally unrealistic expectation. It was my first evening with Jamie. I've had many since, and I won't bore you with examples beyond this first, typical night.

I'd asked him to stay on the floor. Jamie is always obliging. I'd said nothing about under the floor. Twenty minutes later when the musicians were complaining, I found Jamie under the stage with one terrified friend who bolted at the sight of me.

"The hatch was open." Jamie explained. "Do you know the electrics here are about to fuse? I can fix it if you like."

Thank God I said no. I returned him to the dance floor with a flea in his ear, called the duty manager to see to the fuse board and began to realise I needed to keep this child within sight. I was therefore able to intervene quickly when his perfectly turned back-flip led to less agile men attempting cartwheels and breakdancing guaranteed to end in ambulances being summoned. I then discouraged his initiative in sliding on the highly polished dance floor. Jamie always desists, the minute he's asked, with innocent apology and willingness to please. He then walked away to a new pastime, leaving chaos in his wake. It took me and three other members of staff to turn the evening back into a casual disco instead of a sliding competition. By which time the band were so fed up they were threatening to walk out. It took several drinks and a lot of persuasion to calm them down. When I looked for him, Jamie had stopped making helpful comments about union regulations to the drummer and was sitting on the steps, drinking cola and playing scissors paper stone with a friend.

I was beginning to get the hang of him.

Part of it is genuine insanity. Jamie is not safe to be let out. The above is a standard evening if no one is around to keep a firm hand on him. However, I realised when I saw him checking out the lighting rigs which could just about be climbed by someone determined enough, that there was more forethought to this kid than there appeared. The eyes were a little too thoughtful. I clicked my fingers at him and signed a firm, sharp, NO. The grin was not the little boy smile. It was genuine, warm amusement.

Jamie came in about twice weekly, usually on weekends. We all knew him on sight- fast- and I found that once I'd established that I meant what I said, I didn't have to do more than catch his eye to nip the next catastrophe in the bud. Mostly he did nothing actually wrong- it's just that Jamie has a talent for being the snowball that turns into the avalanche, ten minutes after he's walked away and forgotten all about it. Some of it is natural talent, but there was something in that incredible charm and innocence that made me watch him. It amazed me he was never banned, but then everyone loved him. He always came in the middle of a crowd, but always casual friends. Brett was very fond of him. Jack and Gurad on the other shift liked him. Even Don who yanked him out of the office, having found him peacefully playing gold on the office computer, liked him. Although he came the closest to actually disconcerting Jamie's placid allure.

He was a bewitching boy. I got used to his sweet smiles when he caught my eye and to the brief chat when we passed on the nights he came in.

I was on the second shift one Friday night when it struck me something was not quite right with the clientele. I was doing my usual wander, memorising faces and clothes, and I couldn't figure out what was bothering me until I realised it was the group up on the gantry. Always a trouble spot. People were coming and going too quickly, and yet the central group never changed. I was trying to catch Gurad's eye, intending to break the little party up when the main doors burst open and police charged in en masse, followed by Don who looked heartily fed up. Well, much as this annoyed him, it was probably the best answer. The group on the gantry scattered in all directions, trying to reach exits ahead of the police. It was then I saw cat green eyes from the middle of chaos. Jamie was standing with his hands in his pockets, totally oblivious to his impending arrest.

He was only a kid. I knew he was no addict and I knew he had more sense than to get involved with dope pushers. Or at least that's what I told myself as I climbed the fire escape and reached the gantry ahead of the police fighting through the crowd. Jamie gave me a friendly smile. I grabbed his collar and yanked him into the recess that led to the board room and Mike's office. Once in, I shut the door and let chaos go on behind us. Jamie opened his mouth, looking indignant. I grabbed him, propelled him into the board room and shoved him against the nearest wall while I searched him. Pockets and linings. I found nothing but a bus ticket and a handful of change. I turned him around and looked hard at his eyes. He wasn't using. It was one hell of a relief. I let him go and breathed out, furious, especially as I now realised how badly he'd scared me.

"Do you know any of those thugs?"

"Only from tonight."

Innocent eyes. Wide, charming and apologetic. I growled.

"Did you touch any of the stuff they were pushing?"

"No." he looked faintly crestfallen. It was the most heartbreaking expression I'd ever seen in that little choirboy face. "I was only watching."

"Watching them deal?" I demanded. "Occur to you to tell anyone? You know what Don thinks of drugs, where's the rest of your crowd?"

"They moved on."

I saw the flicker in his eyes when he said that. "So they didn't like the company you were in?"

"No, I-"

"What were you doing up there?"

He flushed. I took a deep, slow breath. The little sod had done it to me again. It was a habit with him and he was _d_a_m_n_ed good at it.

"Take that look off your face." I said grimly, "And don't lie to me Jamie. You're in enough trouble."

His eyes rose to mine, sweet and innocent. I glared at him. His gaze faltered. "I was just watching. Thought it might be- I don't know."

"Try." I advised him. He winced.

"Exciting? I didn't take anything-"

"Really?"

"Honest." he risked looking me in the eyes. "I wouldn't lie to you Ranger. I mean it."

"Exciting?" I said in disbelief. He shrugged with a little kid awkwardness.

"I just wanted to see what they'd do. Listen to them."

This kid had a hard time sorting his fantasy life out from reality. And that was the least of my problems.

"You little horror." I said eventually to the top of his fair head, somewhere between amusement and fury. "You crash around, twisting everyone around your fingers with that innocent face, looking as if you haven't got two braincells to rub together- you'd do it to the police wouldn't you? You'd be charming the socks off the duty sergeant by now if you'd been arrested and they'd be slipping you out of a side door as a poor little kid who doesn't know any better."

He flushed darkly. I shook my head at him.

"And you know exactly what you're doing, don't you? Pure mischeif and wilfulness, that's your only problem!"

The crestfallen look was back. It softened me for about five seconds before I realised it was yet another of his get-out strategies.

"Don't you dare pull that on me." I told him. "I still might call the police up here. You could do with taking in hand. What would your family make of all this?"

He gave me a brief look from under his eyelashes and I saw the flicker of amusement. Of course it was logical. To be this good at his tricks he had to have perfected them on an audience from an early age. This was the most spoilt, manipulative little demon I'd ever met. I understood now why he'd been calmly waiting for arrest. He could handle any consequences without difficulty, to him it was just another exciting experience. Brett was right, this kid was a lunatic.

"You can handle just about anyone, can't you?" I said sternly. "there's no such thing as trouble for you, you just flash those big eyes and everyone gives you what you want. If I call the police now, you'll have them wrapped round your fingers by the time you reach the station."

And he knew it. If any eyes could twinkle, his did. Although he looked the picture of abject disgrace. A good little boy, horrified at the trouble he was in. Well he was in trouble now. I was annoyed. And more over, I wanted to get that look of satisfaction off his face more than anything else in the world.

"Do you know who Nemesis was?" I inquired. His eyes lifted, faintly bemused. I took his wrist and drew him across to a chair. A good solid chair which would take my weight and his. I sat down, pulled him closer and unbuttoned his jeans. He didn't argue. In fact he stood, hips canted in a way that told me he was used to using other strategies to get what he wanted. Or to coax around tougher nuts like me. The kid was beyond belief. I unzipped his flies, drew him closer and turned him over my knee. That got his attention. For a second he was still with shock. Then as I pulled his jeans down to his knees, he began to struggle.

"What are you doing? Let me go!"

"I'm doing what someone should have done for you- a lot- about ten years ago."

I pinned him with an elbow in his back and stroked his curved backside through his pants before I slipped my thumb under his waistband and slid the briefs down over his buttocks and down his thighs. His skin was very white, very smooth and as I lifted his t-shirt off his bare cheeks, I felt the extreme softness of his skin. I couldn't resist stroking, running my palm over his bottom a cheek at a time, running a finger along the undercurve of each buttock, palming each long and smooth thigh. He squirmed, wriggling like a kid, but not enough to cause me any difficulties. I was a lot bigger and a lot stronger. I went on softly stroking his bare bottom as I talked, petting it, especially over the cleft where he was twitching nervously, partly soothing and partly warning him of what I was about to do.

"You may have a nice time getting away with murder with everyone else, but we all meet our Nemisis and I'm yours, kiddie. You're not stupid. You're not exempt from law or morality, what ever you can con people into thinking, and you can't play with people or places for your own amusement."

He wasn't talking, nor protesting although he went right on wriggling over my lap, tryiing to get his vulnerable, bare bottom away from my threatening hand. From his back he was panting, very apprehensive and not able to do much about it.

"The police may not give you much trouble," I told him, "But I can. I can deal with wilfulness and sheer naughtiness without any difficulty Jamie. Keep that in mind before you screw me about again. I can see right through you."

His face and bottom winced as he felt my hand lift. Unkindly, I waited until he began to twitch and relax from sheer anticipation before I smacked his right cheek pretty hard. He reared and yelped, twisting over my lap.

"Ouch! Ranger don't! Get off!"

Some people are eternal optomists. I pinned him down firmly and settled into a good, sound pattern. He twisted and bucked and squirmed in a way that told me he was totally unused to this sort of treatment: even his cries said clearly that he wasn't used to being subjugated to anyone's will. He was also very sensitive. This was a new experience to him and within a few minutes he was no longer struggling to get away. His mind was too overwhelmed to organise any response, he was just hanging over my leg, his hands biting into my shin, and his kicking was pure reflex in reaction to what was happening to his bottom. I shifted my legs, lifting his rump a little higher, took a firmer grip on him and set about the most sensitive lower curves of his bottom and the tops of his thighs. He stopped yelling then and his voice began to crack with real sincerity.

"Ranger - OW - oh don't, please please don't - AH-"

His hips were wriggling with an unstrategic effort to get his chastened bottom away from my hard and energetically spanking hand. There was no way I was responding to those requests. Apart from the fact that I was furious with the little wretch, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. The flat of my hand resounded against his perfect curves, just where his buttocks softened into his long, supple thighs, flushing them brightly and making them twist with the sting.

"Oh God! Ranger stop it- please stop it!" Jamie begged, trying to twist around to see my face. I gave him a few faster, harder ones right under his bottom, and he reared up with a howl. That was his breaking point. He thought it was the finale. When he realised I was nowhere near done with him, he relaxed back down over my knees and the tears began to fall.

He was sobbing long before I was ready to stop, and when I did he was red from the small of his back to his thighs. I let him slide down to the floor and he clutched at himself, tearstained and utterly staggered. He was even more beautiful when he dropped the choirboy act. And there was no swearing, no threats or claims of assault. He just stared at me with wet eyes and no hint of anger. That really did soften me, perhaps because it was the first genuine look I'd had from him.

"Get up." I told him firmly. He obeyed, unsteadily, and scrubbed at his bottom with his hands, face still twisting a little. I pulled up his pants and jeans, ignoring his flinching.

"Wash your face, sit down and wait for me. I'm going to talk to Don, make sure the coast is clear, and then you're coming home with me where I can make sure you stay out of trouble tonight."

Leave him alone and I had no doubt he'd find more trouble to be in. I paused in the doorway of the office and Looked at him.

"Move out of this room, or do anything other than I've said, and this time I'll take my belt to you."

He believed me.

When I came back fifteen minutes later, he'd done as I said. his face was clean and he was curled up on the sofa. I clicked my fingers and held out my hand to him.

"Move. The police are still on the front street, we'll go out the back."

I'd just stripped down his pants and tanned him. I was the first person in years- possibly ever- who'd walked through his multiple, myriad defences and taken him in hand. He was very wary of me. And yet he trailed me like a puppy, eyes watching me from under his lashes, but without the artfulness I knew. Once we reached the street I acquired a firm grasp on his hand and his fingers curled willingly around mine. The littlest con artist in the west.


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