Blood Vane

Chapter four:



Thomas Vane woke with a start, feeling as though someone had just leaned in close and whispered his name softly into his ear. He could almost feel the hot breath on his skin and the hair stood up on the back of his neck as he shook himself loose of the dream.

He swore under his breath. Fucking dreams! Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? For as long as he could remember he had been cursed with the most vivid dreams imaginable. Dreams that, more than once, had shown a disturbing tendency to come true. He hated it with a passion.

He had been told by many people that it was a gift. That almost anyone would kill to be able to dream as he did, but all that proved to Blood was that most people were idiots. The dreams were always either so confusing that he didn’t understand what they were about until after whatever it was had already happened or too untimely to do any good.

What does it matter if you know something’s going to happen if you still cant do anything about it? It only served to make him frustrated and angry. He had decided long ago that he would rather not dream at all.

He sighed, apparently it really didn’t matter what he wanted. The dreams just kept on coming and he just kept on cursing them.

He sat up and swung long, toned legs off the edge of his bunk and sat there for a moment letting the cobwebs clear. This particular dream hadn’t been so bad really. The wolf was something new; he hadn’t felt threatened by it, but those eyes….

He ran a hand through his short, coal black hair. At least his mom had been in his dream. That was something he was always grateful for. He had lost her when he was only eight years old and he still missed her terribly. It had been on his parents anniversary and they had gone out to celebrate. He had begged and pleaded to go with them but his mother, who rarely refused him anything, had said no and so he had had to stay home with a babysitter.

He dreamed that night of fire and loud booming noises like thunder and then of a cool hand stroking his brow only to wake up to the knowledge that his parents had been in a car crash and his beloved mother was gone forever. Alexander Vane,on the other hand, had been thrown clear of the wreck and survived with barely a scratch.

Blood knew long before anyone ever told him that his dad was stinking, falling down drunk when it happened. It wasn’t like it was a rare occurrence in the Vane household. There had never been any Christmas, birthday or other occasion that Blood could remember his father being sober for, so why would their anniversary have been any different?

Blood never forgave his father and Alexander Vane never forgave himself. By the time Blood was a teenager they were just two bitter and angry souls rattling around lost in the same house looking for a reason to hate each other, and more often than not, finding one. It was only a matter of time before someone exploded.

Blood shook his head again, the last thing he needed was to start thinking about his father. What time was it? He squinted at the small alarm clock he kept by his bed. Six thirty…. Wonderful.

Grumbling to himself he stood and stretched, might as well get up. He very seriously doubted he would be able to go back to sleep anyway.

He was yawning and scratching himself in a personal manner through the opening in his tissue thin white prison issue boxers, when he noticed the blond boy lying facing away from him on the bunk opposite his. That was strange, inmates were usually brought in before noon and if there was one thing Blood was sure of, it was that he was alone when he went to sleep.

He briefly considered waking the guy up to introduce himself but then decided to leave him alone. They would have plenty of time to get to know each other later and getting rid of the morning breathe before he said hello couldn’t hurt any. He went to the small bare sink and commode at the back of their cell and quickly relieved his bladder and brushed his teeth.

He yawned again, the guy still hadn’t so much as twitched, although he really wasn’t trying to be quiet. I guess I could go take a shower, he thought. He could hear other prisoners starting to stir in the cells around him. The noise would probably have woken his new roomie up by the time he got back.

Weekends were more flexible on the Hill anyway and the poor sap was probably much happier asleep than he would be waking up to his new reality, so Blood decided to wait.

Grabbing a towel and some soap he went to the door of his cage and motioned to a guard to let him out.

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Boot Hill, though technically not a prison, still operated under most of the same principles; although the inmates did have a little more freedom than you might find in a state run facility.

When Hillbern A. Boot opened his school/prison in July of 1952 he had been adamant that Boot Hill would be a fully self supporting construction and so far it had managed to remain so. Not one penny of government money had ever been accepted by the facility and so they enjoyed the privilege that few other such juvenile facilities could boast of being mostly left alone by bureaucracy .

Six acres of fairly fertile land were planted with various crops every year, a local dairy traded milk, eggs and cheese for vegetables and the local grocers were more than happy to trade meat for produce. Six acres usually produced enough that they had plenty to sell to local vendors and that mostly took care of the guards salaries and other sundry expenses. The boys were also put to work inside the prison, working with several local thriving businesses. All in all it was a win win situation. It allowed the business cheap labor plus taught the boys a marketable skill they could put to use later when they “graduated.”

Everyone had a job at Boot Hill, even if that job was nothing more than spreading manure and everyone went to school and received counseling, whether they liked it or not. Church services were the only thing offered at Boot Hill that were not mandatory. Hillbern Boot had felt strongly that a mans religion was a highly personal matter and left it up to the individual inmates whether they attended chapel or not.

For any budget shortfalls the facility could count on monies from Hillbern Boot’s other, still booming businesses. It was a trust fund of sorts set up by Mr. Boot before his untimely death in 1986. By all accounts Hill Boot had been a genius when it came to finance and also extremely stubborn when he set his mind to something. The Boot facility was his baby and as such he had been determined to see to its care long after he was gone.

Whatever else he may have been, Hillbern was also the son of a career criminal and after spending his youth watching his father go through a revolving door prison system that offered nothing in the way of change or education, he was very strongly motivated to make his small institution something he could be proud of.

There were also a steady stream of big donations from a few prominent locals to the organization. Under Hillbern Boot the place had been a shining example of efficiency and reform. Several of Georgia’s most upstanding citizens had started out their teenage years at the Boot facility, and had it to thank for turning their lives around. It was after his demise, when his drunkard of a son, Norman Boot took over that the environment had changed to include the nasty, rough reputation Boot Hill still had as a prison.

It was only in the last few years since Norman Boot did the world a favor by keeling over and Hillbern’s grandson Alistair took over that the facility had begun to recover some of its former glory by focusing more on reform than punishment.

Thomas/ aka “Blood” Vane had been lucky enough to come to Boot Hill during the revival of Hillbern Boot’s former practices regarding the facility, and so far had done fairly well under the system. It was still a jail as far as he was concerned, but at least it was also a place of learning and counseling and so even though he hated it for many reasons, he still found himself grateful to be there.

Having been caught with enough drugs to ensure quite a long jail sentence Blood was well aware of how lucky he was to have ended up at Boot Hill.

Blood shuffled along towards the showers, occasionally speaking to another boy or nodding his head in greeting as he passed one of the lady guards. Showers were one of the things he did hate about the place. They were communal and offered very little in the way of privacy. The thin shower curtains that hung every few feet in the huge shower room made for some interesting shadows but weren’t much by way of hiding anything, especially when most people didn’t even bother to pull them out.

At six foot two and mostly light bronze muscle, Blood got quite a few lecherous looks in the showers and it was unnerving. He really didn’t care what the other boys did, he had no prejudice against two boys having sex, he just didn’t like having them come on to him after he had already told them no.

The only boy he had even gone so far as a blowjob with was his best friend Mickey, and that was only because the other boy had pushed the issue. Mickey and he had come in to Boot hill on the same day over a year ago, both of them scared out of their minds and had become quick friends, in self defense if nothing else. At Boot Hill it paid to have someone watching your back.

Especially if you were a short, scrawny fucker like Mickey Cooper; Blood snickered as he caught sight of a light brown head bobbing towards him. As usual Mickey was grinning from ear to ear.

“What are you grinning at Mick?” Blood grinned back.

Mickey squinted up at his much taller friend and grinned even wider. At just around five foot three he spent a lot of time looking up to Blood, literally. “Just thinking how strange it was to see an Indian strutting through all these cowboys.”

It was an old joke between them. Blood was a half blood Indian; Seneca Tribe, but he looked the part with his characteristic golden brown skin, high cheek bones and ebony hair. The only things that betrayed his Caucasian heritage were the surprising hazel green eyes speckled with gold.

Blood snorted, “Cowboy’s hell, more like redneck farm boys.”

Mickey nodded, “True, but you’re still a strange looking fucker waltzing through them. Course…. You cant help it that you’re so pretty now can you?” he batted his eyelashes at his tall friend.

Blood snorted even louder, “ Flattery will get you nowhere shortstuff, now get your freckled ass in here.” chuckling he turned to go into the shower room with Mickey hot on his heels.

“How about begging?” Mickey murmured behind him, watching Blood’s ass and allowing his brown eyes to following the others spine up to strong shoulders. He was so busy admiring that luscious ass and strong shoulders that when his friend abruptly stopped just inside the shower, he ran right into Blood’s backside hard from not paying attention to where he was going, causing Blood to grunt and shoot him a dirty look.

“What the hell…?” he started but taking one look past Blood was enough to tell him exactly what the hell and he froze in place with his mouth hanging open there beside his friend and stared at the tableau being enacted right in front of them.


Roderick “Roddy” Paul Malone, had only been at Boot Hill for a short time but he had taken over unit B almost from the second he had stepped through the door. Tall and arrogant, with reddish brown hair, whiter than white skin and dark gray/blue eyes, he was the only boy in the whole facility who was a match for Blood physically, but unlike Thomas Vane he was also a bully and a sexual predator.

At the moment Roddy was standing underneath a barely dribbling showerhead with his eyes closed and a look of ecstasy plastered on his features as a much smaller blond boy knelt before him. Roddy moaned and jerked on a fist full of the boy’s hair as he rammed his cock down his throat. Upon hearing Mickey’s big mouth though, his blue eyes fluttered open and locked with Blood’s. Not missing a beat Roddy thrust hard into the boys mouth again and came with la loud groan as the poor boy crouching on the floor gagged and frantically fought to breathe. Rod’s eyes never left Blood’s as he emptied himself down the struggling youngsters throat.

Immediately after satisfying himself the smug bastard shoved the boy away from him, leaving him sobbing there on the floor, then stepped over his body as he crossed to stand bristling in front of Blood. “See something that interest you Vane?” he hissed.

Blood allowed his eyes to wander across Roddy and rest on his spent cock for a moment before meeting the grayish blue eyes again. “Nothing worth mentioning Malone.” he smirked.

Roddy Malone’s face turned bright red in an instant and those blue eyes turned hard as flint at the insult.

He opened his mouth to speak only to be interrupted when his second in command, Luke Miles poked his head around the door to the showers and hollered, “Boss! Peewee is looking for you!”

Roddy scowled back at him, “Cant it wait? I’m a little busy here.”

Luke shook his curly red head emphatically no. At just over six foot he was shorter than both Rod and Blood but twice as heavy as either one at close to three hundred pounds. “He said NOW Boss!”

“Fine!” Roddy snapped at him, “tell him ill be there in a minute.”

He gave Blood one last nasty look as he deliberately shoved his shoulder into him on his way out of the showers. “ See you later half-breed.” he snarled with venom.

“Not if I see you first asshole.” Blood rumbled back as the aggravating motherfucker finally made his exit.

Blood went to the crying boy on the floor and gently helped him up as Mickey hovered nervously behind them. “Are you alright?” he asked, then kicked himself. The kid looked anything but alright. “do you want me to get a guard?”

If the boy wanted a guard they would have to go fetch one. Unless someone was screaming bloody murder the female guards hardly ever came into the showers and there were two ladies on shower duty most weekends.

The boy started crying even harder, “No, no, no… please!” he wailed. “Don’t! I - I owed him money and he’ll kill me if I tell!”

Blood’s face twisted in disgust. He had suspected as much. Roddy had control of all the gambling that went on inside Boot Hill as well as having his dirty little fingers in the drugs and prostitution that went on when no one was looking. He also had a reputation for ALWAYS getting paid; one way or another he got his filthy pound of flesh.

They didn’t try to stop him when the boy turned and ran out of the shower with hot tears of shame still rolling down his face.

The two friends stood looking at each other in silence for a few moments after the boy fled, then Blood growled, “You know I really hate that motherfucker.” before slipping his boxers off and turning to walk over and stand under one of the shower heads.

Mickey followed him over but chose a showerhead further from his friend than he normally would have. He heard Blood sigh as he turned the water on and stepped up under the warm stream. Mickey was ashamed of himself but watching Roddy use the boys mouth had made him hard as a rock and he turned his shower on cold; keeping his back to Blood until he had his self under control again.

It turned out to be a waste of time though because as soon as he managed to get his hard on to go down he glanced over at Blood and his breathe caught in his throat. Long lean muscle and firm ripe buttocks met his eye as he watched his best buddy soap himself down and he was immediately, painfully erect again. Almost unconsciously he found himself edging closer to his friend until they were both standing underneath the same showerhead.

Reflexively he found his hand reaching out to lightly caress one brown hip. Blood stiffened at the touch but then seemed to force himself to relax before turning to the shorter boy. “Mickey…” he whispered, shaking his head no.

Mickey bit down hard on his bottom lip and forced himself top meet pitying hazel green eyes. “Please Blood…. j-just let me… please….” he dropped to his knees before his friend, pressing his face into his crotch and placing burning kisses to the strong thighs. “Please….” he begged.

Blood fought down anger and disgust. He hated it when Mickey was like this. He felt hot breath caress his balls and then a wet tongue licking at his sack and against his will his body began to respond. Mickey nuzzled his balls a few seconds longer then Blood had to groan as a hot mouth closed around the head of his rapidly swelling cock.

Mickey sucked as though he was starving for it and soon Blood was thrusting his hips forward into the other boys mouth and biting his tongue to keep from crying out as the ravenous mouth relentlessly worked his shaft. Mickey reached up and grabbed Bloods hand, guiding it to the back of his head before reaching down to pump his own dick in his fist.

Blood's fingers curled automatically in the other boys hair as his hips thrust instinctively; then he felt his stomach muscles jerking just before he lost control and forced the head of his cock deep into his best friends throat and came with a yelp.

Mickey started gulping as the hot seed poured down his throat causing the muscles there to undulate around the throbbing head of his prick and Blood nearly bent double from the pleasure even as he felt the other boys cum splattering his calves.

Panting and spent he leaned back against the shower wall as Mickey licked his cock clean of every drop.

Damn! He cursed. Why did something that felt so good have to make him feel so guilty? Even as he asked himself the question he already knew the answer. It wasn’t the sex or the fact that Mickey was a boy that made him feel guilty. It was because he knew Mickey was in love with him and although he loved him back, it was only as a friend. Mickey wanted them to be together, to really be a couple. Blood just didn’t feel the same way and he suspected he never would, and hence the guilt. Mega guilt.

He stuck first one leg then the other under the shower spray, washing off Mickey’s “gift” and glanced down at his friend. Mickey’s eyes were soft and sated and he was licking his lips like a cat might lick off some particularly delicious cream caught in its whiskers.

Blood grabbed his towel and wrapped it tight around his hips. He had to get out of there. NOW.

“Ummmm… Mickey… I need to go.” Mickey pouted up at him but didn’t look surprised. Blood usually bolted after they had any kind of sex.

He stood up and chewed his swollen bottom lip. “Are you mad at me Blood?”

“N-no…I-I just have to go.” the bigger boy stammered and then he was gone, leaving his pouting friend to turn everything off.

“Sure Blood,” Mickey murmured disconsolately to empty space, “anything you say.”


Blood found himself practically running back to his cell. Fucking hell! As if he didn’t have enough problems, now he had to put up with his best friend coercing him into having sex!

Huffing from the run he collapsed on his bunk and waited for his breathing to even out. Eventually he noticed that his new roommate still hadn’t bothered to wake. As a matter of fact the guy hadn’t moved at all…. Strange.

Blood suddenly had a bad feeling about this. “Hey.” he called softly.

The boy didn’t move.

“I said hey.” he called louder.

Nothing.

His bad feeling was growing by the second and he slipped off his bunk and crossed to the other side of the cell. Tentatively he reached out and gently shook the guys shoulder.

Still nothing.

Bad feeling x infinity.

Cautiously, he took the boys shoulder and eased him over onto his back.

He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until it burst out of him as he got his first look at the condition of his new cellmates face.

Goddamn motherfucking hell!


TBC...