War Games

Part III

Author's Notes: Surprise! There's more! I always had the idea of Jerry turning the tables on Ian in mind, and that train of thought played out brilliantly on camera last week (week of April 14 - 18), in the aftermath of Michael's shooting. This story covers that, and explains what happened to Jerry after he finally decided to stop suffering (as Coop didn't want him to hurt). Let's just say, it isn't a pretty picture for poor Devlin, who was having so much fun up until now! This also lightly touches on the history between the college buddies, Ian, Patrick, and Pete. I might go into that history in a separate story, too. Lots of material for slash on GH this year. Some of my favorite characters in a while, too. I love villains!

Chapter One

What do you do when it's not enough?

Alone in the hospital locker rooms, a thin, pale man leaned his back against his locker door, sighing as the thought ran through his mind. His blue eyes searched the feeble fluorescent lights overhead, as if the answer lay somewhere within them, or in the reflections of the steel rows around him.

Not enough death, not enough life, not enough anything. I thought I would enjoy coming here to play with my favorite tool . . . but it isn't going exactly as I'd planned.

Some minutes ago, he had called his 'tool' to demand a meeting that night, only to be told in quite a nasty manner, "I do not appreciate being summoned every night to drive out to that forsaken hideout of yours. I am busy doing your work, and if you want it done, you won't call me again."

When did Jerry Jacks decide to grow a backbone? the man in dark blue scrubs thought bitterly. Where's the broken, guilt-driven masochist that I took such pleasure in satisfying? Why is he being so high-handed, all of a sudden? He acts as if he's been totally absolved, and I'm the one to be taken in hand. Hell is wrong with him?

A low, rather important voice suddenly asked, "Penny for your thoughts, Ian?"

Ian turned only his face, and plastered on a half-smile. "Oh, they're worth more than that."

And then there's this 'old friend' of mine, Ian thought in annoyance. Oh, he's perfectly arrogant, practical, and secure . . . but even he leaves something to be desired. The Patrick Drake I knew in school would never be 'in love', certainly not with such a homely girl as Robin Scorpio.

Patrick smiled, briefly touching Ian's shoulder, completely unaware of the man's scornful thoughts. He started discussing a patient they were treating together, and Dr. Ian Devlin nodded and responded as if he was completely engaged.

He still believes these little case-by-cases are somehow making the world a better place, Ian went on thinking, all the time feeling rage bubbling up deep inside his chest. How whole and naive and happy he is. Is it an arrogance beyond my own, or just stupidity? It's disappointing, and yet I envy him. He's still a child . . .

"Anyway, our shifts actually ended at the same time today," Patrick said now. "Robin's still got some hours to put in. You want to get a drink or something?"

"Can you still do that?" Ian asked cynically.

Patrick gave him a look. "Hey, just because I'm going to be a . . . a father . . . doesn't mean my life is over."

In a foul mood, Ian shut his own locker loudly, and became unusually vicious. "I'm sure your father started off saying the same thing."

Patrick's large brown eyes froze on the man's back, and then he frowned deeply. "Where did that come from?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Devlin turned to look up at him, completely defiant. "I'm sorry. Hey, I'm sorry, but I just hate to see you so detached from reality."

"How am I 'detached from reality'?" Patrick inquired defensively.

"You're having a baby that was conceived by accident, whose mother you aren't even committed to!" Devlin pointed out. "Your father made more effort, but in the end, he was crushed under the weight of tragedy and his own weakness. How unlike him do you really think you are, Patrick? Huh?"

Patrick's eyes were glossy as he stared down at the man, too shocked to respond.

"Have you even considered your perfect little world shattering?" Devlin went on. "The mother of your child is HIV Positive. The child may be HIV Positive. Do you comprehend how fine the line you're walking is? Do you?"

"Of course I--"

"No! No, you don't!" Devlin cut him off harshly. "If you did, you never would have brought a child into the world with her!"

"Hey, you're way out of line!" Patrick boomed at him.

"I am the voice of reason, for God's sake!" Devlin argued back. "You're already running! How far do you think you'll go when the inevitable tragedy happens?"

"I am not an alcoholic, damn it!" Patrick shouted. "You've been so damn uptight the whole day, I figured you could use the drinks more than I could, and you start comparing me to my father? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" Ian ran his hands through his hair, exhaling. "I don't know . . . I could use those drinks, I guess."

Patrick gave him a wary glance. "I'm not sure I want to have them with you anymore."

"Oh, let's just go, okay?" grumbled Ian.

He tore out of his scrubs, changing into street clothes. Patrick did not take his gaze off the man, contemplating him.

"You've changed," he said softly as Ian pulled on his coat.

Ian turned to face him.

"What happened to you?"

Devlin looked uncertain for a moment, then shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

With that, he stormed out. Patrick stayed quiet, following him.

How could he possibly understand? He's just a young fool, Devlin thought angrily, shoving his hands in his pockets sullenly. I've grown up, Patrick, that's what happened to me. I've seen the world and everyone in it, including myself. I'm not blind to the hard truths anymore. It isn't something everyone can do. People such as myself and Jerry, Claudia, we spend our lives lying, but we're the most honest people in the world. It's vision. I always thought Patrick had that kind of vision, and the strength to handle it, but he doesn't. He was just faking it all along.

How bitterly disappointing.

The two men hit up the popular bar in town, Jake's, and the tension was quickly forgotten over a few glasses of liquor. At one point, Patrick went to play a match of pool with another doctor from the hospital. Devlin sat alone for a moment, drumming his hands on the counter restlessly. Then, just in time, a very attractive woman entered the bar. He was immediately beside her, and soon they were flirting heavily. Patrick noticed them from the other side of the room, shaking his head as he continued the pool game.

"Can I get you another?" Devlin asked as she finished her drink.

"No," the woman chuckled. "To tell you the truth, I'm not even really in the mood for alcohol."

"Really?" Devlin asked with interest. "Well, what are you in the mood for?"

She laughed, and he grinned back. However, Patrick had loomed up beside them, and he had an odd look on his face. "Ah, it's nice to see you again," he greeted the lady, "Mrs. Carter."

The woman looked up at him, startled, and her smile vanished. Devlin's thin lips tightened.

"Oh, Dr. Drake, I hadn't seen you," she said nervously. "Hi, hi, yeah, it's been a-a while."

"Only a few months," Patrick said. "Tell me, how's your husband? He was pretty wrecked while you were in surgery."

"He's great, in fact, he, er, he's joining me," she smiled awkwardly. "In fact, I had to call him and . . . remind him. Excuse me."

Devlin and Patrick nodded as she scurried off, and Patrick took her seat beside Ian.

"Why did you do that?" Ian grumbled, downing the rest of his drink and pouring another glass.

"She's a married woman." Patrick paused to take a drink. "I saved her life, and I'd hate to see her take that for granted by ruining it."

"Married women are great," Devlin said. "They've always got something to prove, and they know how to keep a secret."

Patrick was quiet, staring into his glass.

"What? Don't tell me you've contracted a sense of morality?" Devlin scoffed. "Come on, even you can't be that big a hypocrite."

"I've just realized that there are actually some things in this world that are sacred."

"Sacred!" exclaimed Ian. "Oh, that is just priceless. So, now the miracle of life and love has you answering to an authority higher than yourself?"

"Don't you respect anything?" Patrick asked, sounding a little fed up. "How does a cosmetic surgeon end up being so embittered, anyway?"

Ian twitched. "I'm not embittered," he said tersely. "I'm realistic."

"You're pessimistic."

"You know what I am? I'm bored," Devlin said, "and I'm pretty pissed off that you ruined my shot at fun for the sake of playing Saint Patrick and further boosting your moral ego. I don't care how many married women you protect from me, it won't make you any more ready or worthy of being a father!"

"And it all comes back to that," sighed Patrick. "Why does it bother you so much, Ian? Why do you hate the idea of me being a father?"

"Because I hate kids! I hate them almost as much as you used to!" Ian retorted. "And I hate to see someone of your intelligence blinding themselves to all the terrible truths this baby means."

"If I thought like you, then I would be blinding myself to all the good truths instead," Patrick said. "If I'm ignorant to the bad, then you're being ignorant to the good. This is both things, you know. Life's not so one-sided."

Unbeknownst to the two men, they were being watched and listened to by a third party. Neither noticed the man in the black university hoodie drinking at the end of the bar, or how his very light blue eyes shifted to them from beneath the shadow of the hood, narrowed in interest.

"Don't you miss it?" Devlin was asking now, sounding a little desperate. "The rush of passion, the feeling of strength and skill? Exploring a new body, losing yourself in a stranger? How can you seriously give all that up?"

"Easily," Patrick replied. He shrugged. "It gets boring after a while. When your body is reacting out of habit, and not passion anymore, it's boring. The same thing."

"That's when it's time to do something different," Devlin smirked.

"Eventually, there's nothing left to do that you haven't done already, no trick left to exhilarate you," Patrick said. "That's when you need to find . . . substance."

"Tch. Substance," scoffed Devlin, drinking briefly. "And having a baby with an HIV-infected girl gives your life substance? What is that, like charity?"

Patrick's dark eyes flashed. "If I weren't too drunk, I think I'd hit you."

Devlin looked at him in surprise. Seeing the man was serious, his temper flared. "You mean you'd try," he said warningly.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you, or fight you," Patrick said. "Let's just not mention Robin or babies or anything like that at all, okay? I need a break from the whole thing, too, you know."

"I'll say," Devlin said as he brought his lips to his glass once more.

A ringing sound interrupted them, and they both checked their pagers and phones. It was Patrick's, and he left outside. Devlin sneered once he was gone, having heard Robin's irritating little voice on the other end.

I don't get the attraction at all, he thought. One woman. One bossy little woman, and that's it. That's all he has, all he wants. Is he fooling himself? Has he really forgotten all the crazy pleasures this seedy world has to offer?

Devlin looked around, then brought his eyes to Patrick's abandoned glass. Maybe he just needs a little reminder.

Ian removed a tiny plastic bag from his pocket, and glanced around nervously again. He slid closer to Patrick's seat, moving his hand towards the glass, prying open the bag with his thin fingers. Just before he slid the white powder into the drink, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist crushingly. He turned in alarm, and found himself face-to-face with a hooded, familiar figure.

"I don't think you want to prescribe that," said a richly accented voice, "Doctor Devlin."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Devlin hissed angrily. "Are you following me?"

"It's a good thing I did," Jerry Jacks replied.

Ian looked at his wrist, trying to tug it away. He had forgotten how strong the mercenary could be when he was fighting back. "What is this?" He was finally released, and tore his arm away. "Are you trying to antagonize me now? Me?"

"Here isn't the place."

Jerry dragged the man out of his chair and to the parking lot. Devlin fought him off, furious. It was a cold spring night, starless and empty.

"You refuse to meet with me for the sake of doing your job, and then waste your time by stalking me?" Devlin asked. "Are you really that insane, or are you just being stupid? Do you want me to ruin your life?"

"You still need me," Jerry told him. "Likewise, so much as I hate to admit it, I still have business with you. But it's time we got something straight: I am not your personal plaything to be used in any way you fancy."

"Since when?" Ian asked in shock. "You had no trouble being used before."

"Well, not anymore," Jerry said firmly. "Is that clear?"

Devlin looked up at him, mouth slightly ajar. What's this? He's almost schizofrenic the way he swings from submissive to dominant. But it's completely genuine, I can see that in those terrible eyes of his.

"And what makes you think I'm willing to give you up, Jerry?" Ian asked, moving close to him. "Or that you have a choice, hm?"

He touched Jerry's cosmetically altered face, and the man did not respond, only continuing to stare down at him through narrowed eyes. Devlin's hand went around the back of his neck, and he held him tightly by the back of his wavy blond hair.

"Is this another personality of yours?" Devlin asked. "Another alias? Mr. Moreau, Mr. Craig--"

"No more games." Jerry wrenched out of the man's grasp and took him by his shoulders. "You listen to me, damn it! I'm done playing with you!"

Devlin frowned deeply. "Jerry, Jerry," he sighed. "Ha ha. You really want your cover blown, don't you? I can't wait to see the look on Jax's face once he learns everything his big brother has been up to the past years."

"You tell on me, and I'll tell on you," Jerry shot back. "What do you think Patrick Drake will say to his old college buddy being an international drug trafficker?"

"You make it sound as if I'd care," scoffed Devlin. "Patrick is not my Jax, or Cooper, or like any of the fools that believed in your nonexistent worth. I'm using him, like I'm using everyone in that hospital."

"I don't really believe that, but regardless, you can't afford for your cover to be blown," Jerry pointed out. "Not now with your plans to get in bed with the Zaccharas."

"You expose me, and I'll expose you," smirked Ian.

"Yes, and then . . . what reason would I have to not kill you?"

Ian's large eyes glinted in the faint light wafting out from the bar and the street lamps. "Oh come on, Jerry. You don't really think you'd win, do you?"

"You know better than anyone what I'm capable of."

A tense silence fell. Devlin crossed his arms, looking out into the streets. He looked almost hurt, and sullen without his ability to take charge of Jerry.

"Honestly, I thought you had been the one that murdered Cooper Barrett," Jerry explained finally. "You, one of my enemies, something tied to me. I blamed myself, and that made me buy in to your whole sadist's fantasy. But it wasn't my fault. The man responsible has paid the price."

"So you think you're absolved?" Devlin asked incredulously. "After all you've done?"

"I'll never be absolved, but neither will you, Ian," Jerry pointed out. "It's not your place to punish me, and I deserve more than to be made to suffer needlessly by your hand. Cooper wouldn't have wanted that."

"Cooper? Your mercenary?" Devlin echoed disdainfully. "Who cares? You're letting some tawdry affair with a fellow soldier somehow bring you out of the darkness you usually invite in? When did you get this goddamn sentimental?"

"I have people that have cared about me, even loved me," Jerry retorted. "I'm sick of not letting that in. I'll atone for my crimes in my own way, but not with you. If they wouldn't even think of punishing me, then what the hell gives you the right?"

"Everyone is being so moral tonight," Devlin laughed in disbelief, rubbing his face wearily. "Fine, Jerry! What do you want me to say? That I somehow need you sexually? That I'll be devastated without our S&M games? Do whatever you want for whatever excuses you have! It doesn't mean you don't still belong to me."

"Perhaps not, but Ian, I'm warning you--" Jerry pointed at him menacingly. "--you had better never put yourself in the position to be owned by me. I know you better than anyone else does. You can certainly give, but you have a distinctly difficult time receiving."

Devlin turned his face. "Tch."

"Be careful my turn doesn't come up, Doctor."

With that ominous remark, Jerry vanished into the night streets. Devlin shifted on his feet, more frustrated than before. Just when I really want him, he does this, he thought restlessly. Why tonight? And if he was going to break it off, why did he have to stop me from drugging Patrick?

"Hey, you okay?"

Devlin turned around. Speak of the devil.

"Just getting some air," Ian replied.

"Who was that hooded guy you were talking to?"

"A university student," Devlin replied. "I guess I was trying to relive the days when you weren't such a stick-in-the-mud."

"You're still on about that?"

"Remember the great times we used to have?" Devlin went on, ignoring Patrick's complaint. "You, me, and that underachieving English major-- what was his name?"

"Peter Marquez."

"Right, the hot-looking one," Devlin nodded. "Hey, isn't he in town?"

"He's joining the students on their spring break."

"Good to see some of us haven't lost track of the important things," Devlin said. He turned to Patrick, looking all the way up at the very tall man. "It's just you. Why?"

"Look, I already had many of these conversations with Pete," Patrick said. "I just changed. You have to accept that whether you like it or not. I haven't been prying into what made you so jaded, have I?"

"Whatever," Devlin said, giving up. "So, what about you and your baby mama? Are you on again? Off? What?"

"I haven't quite found my way back to her completely, and to be honest, I'm not even sure I can or want to," Patrick said. "She doesn't want me involved with the pregnancy, or with her, and I'm just trying to ease my way in. Because I do kind of . . . "

"Care?"

"I'm curious."

"Ah." Devlin looked him up and down, shifting on his feet again. "So, no sex from the knocked-up baby mama."

"Please don't call her--"

"What about that attractive nurse, Leila?"

"No."

"No sex from Leila," Devlin echoed, as if ticking off names on some imaginary list. "Are you doing anybody, man?"

Patrick gave him a look. "No, not at the moment," he replied slowly. "I've been busy, you've seen how it is at the hospital, and--"

"Kind of a coincidence," Devlin interrupted, "neither am I."

"Why do I not believe that?"

"See, aren't you bored?" Devlin insisted. "Why don't we hit up a strip club and grab some girls?"

"I don't think so," chuckled Patrick. "In fact, it's about time I got going."

"Because Robin's shift is over?"

Patrick stopped, exhaling.

"Don't you feel anything?" Devlin asked. He came around in front of the man. "At all?"

"Ian, I don't see why my feeling or not is any of your concern," Patrick told him. "If you're having problems finding something to arouse you, fine, but don't drag me into--"

Ian grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face down to his own. He pressed into a fierce kiss that took Patrick by complete surprise, desperately trying to reclaim his usual lust. The blood began to flow through his veins, and he felt his face flush. This, now this was the rush he had been looking for!

Unfortunately, Patrick pushed him off without kissing back. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, wiping his mouth. "Are you crazy?"

"You felt that, though, right?"

"I'm out of here."

"Wait!"

Devlin grabbed him by the arm forcefully. "Don't you run away again, Drake!" he yelled. "Stop being such a coward! What are you afraid of?"

"First you tell me I'm a cowardly father, and now you're telling me I'm being a cowardly man?" Patrick pushed him off. "What do you want, Ian? What!"

"You! All right?" Devlin admitted loudly. "I want to have you."

"Why? Because it'd be new and exciting?" Patrick shook his head. "You're . . . You're not just bitter and immature, you've gotten really . . . "

Ian stared at the ground for a moment. This is not good. I can't let him see that other side, not even in a glimpse, it'd make him too suspicious. My boredom and sexual frustrations are going to ruin me if I don't reign them in. Damn it! This is all Jerry's fault.

"Weird," Patrick finished. "Look, Ian, if you're this messed up, maybe I can--"

Devlin laughed strangely. "Don't pity me," he scoffed. "Look, you're the one who needs help. I was just trying to see if there was anything left of the reckless, life-loving guy I met in college. Guess there's not. My mistake, all right? It won't happen again."

"Don't be that way," Patrick said softly, stopping him from going by the shoulder. "You freaked me out, that's all. I thought you'd stopped experimenting after college."

"I'm not 'experimenting', I know what I'm doing," Ian replied. "Men, women, vanilla or any kind of flavor-- I'm the expert you always said you'd become."

"Hey, I never said I didn't become an expert," Patrick said slyly. "I've had many years to practice before even meeting Robin, you know."

"Talk is cheap, Dr. Drake."

Patrick looked down at him, considering. His hand massaged the man's shoulder, and their bodies were close. Ian had been a few years older than Patrick in college, and somewhat more worldly. He had taught the young, bright-eyed man quite a few tricks, sometimes with women . . . and sometimes not. It was his 'anything-goes' mentality that had gotten Patrick open to switching genders in the first place.

"I'm not a kid in awe of you anymore, Devlin," Patrick said as the memories drifted through their minds. "We're two talented, powerful men, and we're on two totally opposite paths right now."

You have no idea what power is, Patrick, Devlin thought, wishing he could divulge his true influence to the naive man. I could teach you things about this world and real power you'd never dream of, things that make even our significant medical talent pale in comparison . . .

"I'm sorry, but I can't see it," Patrick said. "I just can't be with you. My life is complicated enough."

"And one secret night would throw it off its precarious balance?" Devlin asked doubtfully. "Come on, you're just scared."

"I'm not scared of you," Patrick said. "We could have a crazy night and then never talk about it again. But why would we?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

Patrick shook his head. "I'm just not looking for meaningless pleasure right now. Maybe you think that's stupid, and you know what? I don't care. I can't care. It's my life."

Being rejected by two people on the same night took something out of Devlin; he seemed to deflate, and looked smaller, paler, beside Patrick. His shoulders hunched a little, as he put his hands in his pockets again. "I just thought it'd be fun, for old times' sake," he muttered. "Your loss."

"I guess it is."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Patrick's beeper sounding was a welcome reprieve.

"I got to go back to the hospital," he said. "You going to be all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" shrugged Devlin.

Patrick gave him an apologetic smile, then left in his car. Devlin stared after him, sighing. He left his own car, wandering into town alone. The renowned doctor looked less than respectable as he prowled the night in his leather jacket, head bowed, shoulders hunched over his wiry frame.

A few pretty women were on a street corner. Realistic women who used their sexuality to obtain things they were unworthy of. No lies, no pretenses, they were just tools that could be used at will. Ian picked one up, a brunette one with a buxom figure, because he could. He had what she wanted, and the two were making a wordless contract that she would do whatever he wanted her to do to earn that coveted necessity. It was not as pleasing as conquering someone strong-willed and cruel like Jerry, or seducing a lovesick idiot like Patrick, but it would have to do.

They drove out to his secluded cabin just outside the city, neither saying a word. He could taste her fear, the constant knowledge that any day her expendable existence could be cut short for the mere rush of murder, the question of how far she would have to go, and how much pain it would bring her. Every time, her body was ravaged to some extent. Every time, she had to forsake the disgust for pleasure, to overlook everything but her duty to please. Devlin was aware of all this, but he was only aroused by her trepidations. She was a worthless, cheap whore, and her emotions were worth nothing; he saw no sin in taking great enjoyment from them.

She came onto him just after the front door was locked, and he responded intensely. They moved through the room, knocking things over, drawing heat into the chilled, unlit room. He yanked off what little clothing she had, throwing it on the floor carelessly. He guided her without a word, lying her down on the bed and holding her there by the wrists. The man was methodical, practiced, as he would be performing surgery. His body was, as Patrick had said, "reacting out of habit, and not passion".

No matter how soft she was, or how she moaned and rocked in pleasure, he was not impressed. He had wanted a challenge that night, especially his favorite victim, Jerry. But he had pushed the mercenary too far, worn him out, and now the line had been drawn. When that happened, it was a very large risk to cross it, and he wondered if he really should this time.

Years ago, Ian Devlin was a cosmetic surgeon in California. Tired of the shallow, boring nature of his trade, he started taking underground clientele, in the basement of his private clinic. Huge sums of money began flowing in, and funded his exploration into further underworld dealings, such as experimental drugs. His double life was easily maintained, as he catered to the spoiled rich by day, and permanently masked criminal faces by night. The man had a natural talent for both things, and lying came as naturally as operating to him.

Jerry Jacks had been one of his criminal clients. They met in a bar, both tipped off by a mutual acquaintance. Their eyes were skeptical, untrusting, and hard as they discussed the deal. Devlin remembered seeing a cruelty and strength in Jerry's eyes that rivaled his own, and found himself intrigued and annoyed by the man.

Jerry was on the run from dangerous people, and wanted a completely new face. He promised Devlin not only money, but becoming a valuable ally. As Ian was newer to the drug smuggling business, Jerry assured him he would protect him, serving as a front and an enforcer. He was cool, but Devlin had seen the desperation in his eyes. The idea of owning such a man delighted Ian, and on an impulse, he agreed to the deal.

Having Jerry in his clinic for the surgery and recovery period was blissful. Jerry was strong-willed, as Ian had suspected, and grew impatient in the hospital bed. He tried to remove his bandages early, tried to sneak out early, and Devlin had him restrained. Jerry was sullen, outraged, but impressed. Ian's sadism took over, and he used every opportunity to mock the man, pulling power over him. All the while, he could see Jerry's light eyes snapping beneath the bandages.

Gratitude drove Jerry into Ian's arms after the bandages were removed. Devlin had him for a while, enjoying the handsome face he had constructed and helping himself to the man's body. Jerry was amused, pleasured, and allowed it.

That is, until some family matter came up, and it became imperative for him to leave. Ian found him fully dressed one day, and on his way out the door. Devlin crossed his arms. "And where do you think you're going?"

"I have to leave today," Jerry said. "I think my time spent 'recovering' has been sufficient."

"Maybe, but aren't you forgetting something?" Devlin asked. "I'm supposed to set you up with a new identity before you leave here."

"Keep the money and get to me on it," Jerry said impatiently. "I have to go now."

Devlin shut the door behind himself. "You're not going anywhere."

Jerry's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Ian saw the danger clearly in the man. "You don't want to try and stop me, Ian."

"I could be compromised if you're found, and I'm not taking that risk," Devlin said firmly. "You're staying here until we have a complete identity for you."

"No," Jerry said slowly, "I'm not."

"Do I have to restrain you again, Mr. Jacks?"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Jerry asked impatiently. "You think you'll keep me? I'm not playing anymore, Devlin! No more games!"

He advanced on Devlin, who stood his ground. Suddenly, his height and body made Ian feel smaller, but he still looked up at him with his usual defiant arrogance.

"I'm not just playing, Jerry," Ian told him. "You are not going anywhere."

Jerry slammed him against the door, hard. It was the first time Ian had felt his true strength fighting back at him, and it was enough to make him wince.

"Who's going to stop me?" Jerry asked. "You? Come on, you wouldn't have a chance if I didn't allow you to."

"You owe me!" Devlin snapped, starting to lose his cool. "You'd be shot dead in a street somewhere if I hadn't surgically altered your face! Look at the job I did! And this is how you repay me?"

"I am grateful, and I promise I will fulfill my promises," Jerry said. "However, there is somewhere I have to be right now, and I can't let you stop me."

Devlin tapped three times on the door behind him. "Well, that's just unfortunate."

The armed orderlies he kept outside burst in, pulling Jerry away. Devlin smirked smugly as they wrestled the man back to the hospital bed and tied him down in it. "I warned you, Jerry," he said. "The deal's on my terms, and it's going to be fulfilled exactly as I say."

Jerry struggled against the restraints briefly, glaring at him. "You've just made a huge mistake, Doctor," he threatened him. "I won't betray you, but I promise that you'll be made to regret this."

"If you say so, Mr. Jacks," Devlin said dismissively.

Ian had left him, secure in his power over the man. In the hall, he laughed out loud at Jerry's helplessness. I don't blame him for trying, he thought. Pity he's way out of his leagues.

Some days passed, and Jerry lay quietly in the hospital bed. Devlin would come in to taunt and sexually bother him. He had been overtaken with smugness, and let himself get crueler than usual. Part of him knew he was pushing too far, but that only made the act more enjoyable. Jerry would turn red and stare with hatred at him, furthering his amusement. He felt so good to hurt, being such a handsome, bad man . . .

Devlin informed Jerry of this one day, straddling him in the hospital bed. "You can whine all you want, but you know you like it," he said, running his hands through Jerry's hair. He yanked Jerry's head up a little by the hair. "Don't you?"

"I probably do, yes." Jerry paused, and then met Devlin's eyes evenly. "I just don't think you're the one justified in giving it to me, at least not anymore."

Devlin threw his head back and laughed. Jerry took the moment to free himself of the restraints he had cut with a stolen scalpel, and overturned the doctor. "What are you doing?" Devlin yelled in surprise and anger, fighting him back.

The two struggled, falling to the floor. Devlin was much smaller, but strong, and put up a very good fight. Jerry was heavier, bigger, and Ian could not seem to get him off of himself. He kicked the man in the stomach with a foot. Jerry cringed, but did not break his hold. Further angered, he finally stopped trying to simply restrain Devlin, and gave the man a mighty punch across the face.

"Aaaaoooww!" Ian cried out, clutching his cheek as he writhed. He swore furiously, eyes watering beyond his control. Jerry was stronger. He had always known this, but he had made the mistake of buying into the dominant fantasy Jerry had thus far let him play out.

"I thought you liked pain," Jerry said, holding him down by the wrists. "What was that? Oh, only when you're dishing it out! I see! Well, isn't that too bad for you, Doctor Devlin?"

Ian scowled up at him, shaken by being taken charge of. "How dare you!" he screamed, almost hysterical. "I'll turn you over to them! I'll see you dead!"

Jerry's eyes were now the ones lit with sadistic satisfaction, and Devlin started to grow nervous. Jacks leaned down and kissed him, ignoring the struggle he put up. "There, there, love," he said mockingly. "S'it hurt?"

Unable to do much else, Ian spit into his face and cursed him bitterly. Jerry pulled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall, twisting an arm behind his back so hard it felt on the verge of breaking. "You had to keep pushing, didn't you?" Jerry hissed into his ear. "This isn't a kinky game anymore, Ian. I won't allow you to control my life. If you were under that impression from my rolling over in bed, then I apologize."

Devlin struggled, face to the wall, and felt himself turning red. "Are you insane? Where did this come from?" he asked hoarsely. "What? I hit you too hard or something? What?"

"I like pain, I like games, but not when they affect my work or my life," Jerry explained. He banged Devlin into the wall again. "Besides, you've been going a bit farther than I'd like."

"Oh, so this is payback, huh?"

"No, payback would be doing everything to you--" Jerry pressed against him a bit. "--that you did to me. Wouldn't it?"

Ian lifted his face haughtily. "You wouldn't dare."

"I don't despise you that much," Jerry said, releasing him and moving away. "You just needed a taste of reality, because the truth is, I am a very dangerous man. You may have more power and money, but I am a mercenary. If I so chose to risk it by eliminating you, there would be absolutely nothing you could do about it."

Devlin glared at him, but did not attempt to fight him again. He was holding his arm, which had nearly gone dead, and looked like a scolded boy. The confidence was drained from him completely, and he was unable to even say anything else.

"So, good day, doctor," Jerry said cynically, picking up his coat and brushing himself off. "Try not to choke on your own medicine."

With that, he left. Devlin had not brought guards that day, having been sure Jerry was safely restrained. A stupid mistake. He had underestimated the man.

"SON-OF-A -- BITCH!" Devlin screamed, throwing a tray of things at the door. He wanted to destroy someone, hurt someone, but there was no one there. He laughed in disbelief at his own stupidity and Jerry's strength. "Damn it." He kicked the hospital bed. "Damn . . . "

His heart was racing, breathing heavy and fast. In a way, he had been . . . As much as he hated to admit it, it had been an interesting switch of positions. On the floor, looking up in terror at the man, he had felt more alive than he had in a long while. A tiny part of him had almost wanted Jerry to take it farther.

But his pride quickly pushed the thoughts away. Jerry was just trash, hence his authority was unjustified. Devlin swore on everything he held sacred (his money and talent, predominantly) that one day he would make Jerry pay dearly for this insult.

End of Chapter One

Chapter Two

Hearing that Jerry Jacks had taken up residence in the mafia-ridden, seaside town of Port Charles, NY, Devlin had wasted little time in following him out to the East Coast. He was a powerful drug supplier by now, dealing high-end experimental drugs to the rich and lording over life and death like some sort of twisted God. Soon, he found himself torturing Jerry again, holding the things he knew about him over his head and threatening his brother, Jasper 'Jax' Jacks, who also coincidentally lived in Port Charles. Again, he took up a double life, taking a job at the nearby General Hospital to cover his seedy nightly persona.

Cracks had begun lining his carefully-constructed facade, however. He had slipped the other night with Patrick, out of desperation to experience something new and exciting that would make his heart pound with desire. He also had to put up with a new client, Nikolas Cassadine, a prince who made deals on his own terms and demanded Devlin cater to him, even inside hospital walls. Being paid 10 million made the trouble seem worth it, but it would be a lie to say he was not concerned over the risk. To top it all off, now Jerry had 'stopped playing' once more, as he was no longer ridden with guilt over a past lover's death, and Devlin could feel his control on the man slipping away.

The call from an old flame and business partner, Claudia Zacchara, the beautiful mob princess, came as a great relief. Dragging Jerry into involvement with the deal, Devlin finally had a venue to distribute his product through. Even hearing that their deal hinged upon the successful assassination of a local mafia boss, Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos Jr., Devlin was determined to see it through.

"I don't like this," Jerry was telling him during preparations one evening. Devlin was in a hotel room in the city, going over the weapon carefully while running a hand lovingly over the smooth, black metal. Jerry watched him from nearby, arms crossed, leaning against a wall. "The risk is too great," he went on.

"I heard you the first time, Jerry," Ian replied in annoyance. "If you chose a lucrative time such as this to grow a conscience, that's your problem. Don't try to bring me down with you."

"If this goes wrong, you'll be down beneath my level," Jerry pointed out. "Six feet under, perhaps?"

"Ha. Wouldn't you love that?"

Jerry put a hand over the gun, lowering it to the table, and leaned his face down to Devlin's. "No, I would not," he said quietly. "I'm rather sick of you lately, and I owe you good for the way you've treated me since coming here, but I don't want to see you dead. Otherwise, I would have tipped Corinthos off, wouldn't I have?"

"No, because you're not that stupid," Ian replied. "You know exposing me and the Zaccharas would get you killed along with the rest of us. So stop bluffing, Jerry."

Jerry came around beside him and sat down on the floor next to him. "Call it off, Ian. I have a bad feeling about it."

"Oh, so you're paranoid too," Ian remarked. He went back to the gun, dismantling it now. "Wow. This town has really made you soft."

"Don't say I didn't warn you when this all blows up in your face," Jerry said.

"Let's say it does." Ian looked over at him with his luminous eyes, half-grinning. "Wouldn't you want to do me one last favor, just in case?"

"No," Jerry said flatly. "I'm done favoring you."

"Hmph. When this goes right and I'm the one with the Zacchara power behind me, don't say I didn't warn you," Devlin shot back. "You'll be crawling to me again, then. And if I decide you're no longer of use to me, you won't be able to touch me before I dispose of you."

"Do you really get off that much by making threats?"

"I get off more when I'm making those threats a reality," Ian replied. "You would know that better than anyone, wouldn't you?"

Jerry gave an amused grunt. "You never stop, do you?"

"Why would I?" Ian pointed the gun at him. "You make it so entertaining."

"Don't point that thing at me!" snapped Jerry, pushing it aside.

Devlin laughed. "Relax, I wouldn't kill you without having one last taste of you first."

Jerry gave him a look, patience wearing thin. He really was a different person when removed from his masochistic darkness; he was never without regret, but that did not stop him from being fiercely defensive and harsh with anyone else. The man had been on edge since being absolved of responsibility for Cooper Barrett's death, ready to snap at any moment. However, Devlin knew he was still relying on him, so he was free to keep pulling power.

If all goes well, I'll be able to pull more power, and he'll want to respect me again, Ian thought as he packed the gun away in its silver case. We may be even right now, but breaking even is boring. I want him back. I want him to hurt and be humiliated beneath me. I miss the feel of him, the sight of him shaking and hurting. I know he must miss it, too. He has to.

Jerry missed something, but it was not submitting. Rather, he had been remembering their parting in California, and the memory started sparking his interest. Devlin was cruel, but he could not handle cruelty directed at himself. That was why even after all these years, he had looked Jerry up in Port Charles; his excuse of needing him for business was a lie, and Jerry knew it. The truth was, Ian Devlin could not stand to leave things with himself on the losing end, and he had come to claim victory over Jerry. His timing had been too perfect to be coincidence, as he had swept in just in time to take advantage of the precarious situation Jerry had put himself in with Trevor Lansing. To Devlin's benefit, Cooper had been killed, and Ian was able to use Jerry's guilt to fully claim him.

Oh, I did want it, Jerry thought now, staring at Devlin. I won't deny that. The pain was gratifying and refreshing. He is a skilled man, after all, and strong in his way. But after reading that diary, I . . . I realized that I can't keep blaming myself. I can't keep making myself into this small, victimized person and hating to look at myself in the mirror because of it. Cooper wouldn't have wanted that. Jax wouldn't want that, and my mother, and the few people that have ever cared about me. It isn't easy to refuse him, even now. He has a way of drawing you in to his arrogance, making himself seem more powerful than he even is. But no matter how hard it is, I'm going to stop it. I have to. It has to end somewhere, especially with all the danger brewing in this town. I can't afford to be distracted by sexual tension. I have to be fully in control. It's almost like being Mr. Craig again. But for better reasons, of course. I don't want to be . . . hopeless . . . anymore.

"Devlin," Jerry said softly, "you will never have a 'taste' of me, ever again."

Devlin looked up in surprise. "What?"

Jerry shook his head. "I am grateful to you, and I will repay my debts, but not in that way," he told him.

Devlin searched his eyes, trying to see if it was a bluff. It was not. "You're serious, aren't you?" he observed. "Huh."

Jerry gripped the man's small shoulder. "I'm not that person anymore, and I swore to myself I never would be."

"You're reciting what that idiot boy told you," Devlin sneered. "Your--"

"Angel," Jerry interrupted. "Corny as it sounds, Cooper Barrett . . . saved me. I didn't even realize it for the longest time, but he did. Now that he's gone, I think I owe him that much."

"Please." Devlin stood, pacing away from Jerry. He seemed rattled by the mention of such feelings. "You're a whore, Jerry, and that boy was one of your many conquests. If some random psychopath hadn't killed him first, you probably would have had it done yourself."

"No. I wouldn't have."

"Angel . . . Oh brother. You've turned into one of the people we used to laugh at," Devlin went on. "You're going to get yourself killed being so blind."

Jerry stood, watching him with interest. "Why does it bother you?"

"It annoys me to see intelligent people fooling themselves!" Ian shouted suddenly. "You know better! You're a mercenary! How can you make yourself that ignorant?"

"You're the one that's being ignorant." Jerry came over and squeezed the shoulder he knew was tattooed with the image of a single angel wing. "You can't protect yourself from the world no matter how vile your words or how many people you crush under yourself. And you know what? You don't even deserve to have that one wing left."

"Always the flair for melodrama," Devlin said angrily. "If you aren't going to help, why don't you just leave? The stench of your dirty hands behind those lofty words is getting to me."

Jerry shrugged. "There will come a time when you cannot dismiss me, you know," he said at the door. "Or dismiss the truth."

Devlin ignored him, sitting down on the sofa and running his hands over his face. I just want this done, he thought, staring at the silver case. Done and over with. Then he'll see. I'll shove those words so far back in his throat, he'll choke on them. After tomorrow, he'll never be able to try his little act of defiance again. After tomorrow . . .

Devlin went to the warehouse early to set up, hiding up high above the unloading area. It was a warm spring day, his black clothes absorbing the heat and sinking it into his fair skin. He ignored it, calmly setting up the rifle and practicing his aim. He was hardly a professional sniper, but had taken some pointers from Jerry (much to Jerry's discomfort), and figured it was simple enough. One shot to one man, he could handle that.

Claudia called as the time drew closer. He flirted with her, but she was nervous. Once it was over, he was sure that uncertainty would melt into gratitude. This would be a lovely part of the reward, as the woman was gorgeous, and they had been apart long enough that he would not be bored of her.

Sonny arrived, dark clothing and coloring setting him nicely apart from the blue-collar docks workers. Devlin trained his rifle on the man, squinting one blue eye into the scope. Things were moving back and forth in the area, complicating things. He began to grow restless.

A woman and a boy joined him. Kids. He hated kids. They were always in the way. For a second, Jerry's words came to mind.

'Call it off, Ian. I have a bad feeling about it.'

No, no, paranoia, he's just gone soft, Ian told himself. He's just confusing his conscience with his mercenary instincts, that's all. It would be stupid to go back now. Not now. I'm so close. I want my power over him back, and this would give me so much more than I ever had . . . To have Jerry and beautiful Claudia in my debt would finally bring me all the excitement and passion I crave . . . and the money! Ah, the best part of all, my millions and millions of profit . . . No. I have to do this. I have to do it today. I can't stand it anymore.

His finger squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out.

It was the one moment in his thus far perfect life that he would live to regret.

"Not my fault. Those fools. What the hell do they know? It could have been them! It could have so easily been them!"

Devlin destroyed his room the next day as the sun rose. The air stunk of alcohol and cigarette smoke. He was in jeans, shirtless, and his hair was on end. His eyes had bags beneath them, and he looked worn and exhausted. Still, he paced through the haze, throwing things and complaining to himself. There was a purple bruise covering the whole of his left cheek, payback from Jerry, and he knew it was only the beginning of what was to come.

Sonny's son Michael had taken the sniper's bullet, and was in critical condition at the hospital. Devlin had seen the stretcher in. Devlin had watched his old, 'naive' friend struggle to save his life on the operating table. Devlin had shut his family out of the doors, barring them from the child he had nearly killed. He had threatened Claudia, saying he would hand her to Sonny if she dared try to expose him. He had argued with Jerry, trying to put them on the same level, trying to point out that a simple ricochet was beyond anyone's control, and received that blow with the butt of Jerry's gun for it. Furious at everyone, Devlin had slunk away to his hidden residence, to sulk and drink alone.

He had tried to sleep, and for some reason, could not. The bottles of alcohol had run out. Nothing was strong enough to stop the crawling beneath his skin, or to calm his nerves enough so his hands could stop shaking. His face hurt. He almost wanted it to. Was this guilt? It made no logical sense to feel guilty.

I wonder if this is how Jerry felt? he thought distantly, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Guilty . . . It wasn't my fault. He had no right to blame me, none of them did! None of them . . .

Jerry's warning kept ringing through his mind.

' . . . Ian, I'm warning you, you had better never put yourself in a position to be owned by me.'

He knew Jerry would come by. He knew what was coming, and he had no means of fighting it. I could kill him? But if he somehow survived, I would be handed to Sonny, he thought. Claudia could help, but she won't. Patrick would wonder why I'm so shaken up about this, and that would draw suspicion. Besides, I'm sure he's comforting Robin Scorpio, who, I think I heard, knew the boy. I don't have anyone else. I don't . . . I can't do anything about it. I just . . . I have no one to turn to.

For the first time in his entire life, Ian felt very alone and very vulnerable. He turned his head at every sound, kept looking out the window. He's making me wait, like I used to do to him. That bastard. He wouldn’t, he . . . he doesn't have the spine. Not to do it to me. He won't. He's-he's bluffing again.

The lies did not stop Jerry from coming. Devlin had fallen asleep finally, and Jerry had no trouble breaking into the house that night. He came over to the bed and looked down at the man. For a second, he felt sorry for him, as he saw what a wreck he was. But his sympathy quickly waned for reasons to numerous to count, and he slapped the man awake.

"What the--" Devlin looked up in alarm, holding his face, and his anger faded into fear. "Jerry. You . . . "

"Get up."

"You still owe me!" Ian yelled at him, sitting up. "Don't forget that I-I could have you killed in a--"

Jerry grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him off the bed. "If you can't have me killed right now, you'd better shut the hell up and listen!" he boomed down at him. "You're lucky if you survive tonight!"

"You said you wouldn't--"

"Who knows? I might have changed my mind," Jerry said, holding him up against the wall. "But not before I pay you back in spades for what you've done."

"This isn't about the Corinthos boy," Ian said. "It isn't! You're just angry because I've used you, that's all! You haven't changed, this isn't morality; you're a goddamn hypocrite!"

"I haven't denied that I do want you to pay for your treatment of me, have I?" Jerry pointed out. "Only now I have reason and means to do so."

Devlin kicked him and managed to wrestle away. He ran for the door, but Jerry had stuck it. As he tried to pry it open, the mercenary laughed.

"You're running away?" he asked incredulously. "I thought you liked games. Don't you? Doctor Devlin?"

He grabbed him by the hair, and Ian winced. "Stop it!" he yelled, hitting out at him. "Let go of me! I'm warning you--"

"Still warning me? Well, your threats no longer hold water, I'm afraid."

He struck Devlin full in the stomach, bringing the man down to his knees. "Ngh . . . not-not fair, I never did that to you," he grunted, doubled over. "I never . . . "

"That's right, what was it you did do again?" Jerry lifted him to his feet by the arm, grip bruising the man's fair skin. "You were quite fond of discipline, weren't you? Well, now that you're the one that's been bad . . . "

"Jerry, don't," winced Devlin as he was thrown onto the bed. Before he could straighten up, Jerry had him by the wrist and was binding him with a rope. "I said, don't!" he shrieked furiously, struggling. "STOP!"

Jerry frowned a little, though he did not stop until the man's arms were tightly bound together over his head. "You're suddenly very shy," he said. "You really can't take it, can you? Too bad you've been so good at dishing it out. A bit too good, I daresay."

Tied over the bed, Ian drew a shuddery breath. His face was hot, and he was dazed with exhaustion and drunkenness. It felt like a nightmare, just a terrible, stupid nightmare. But it wasn't. Jerry was playing this time, playing by his own rules, and there was nothing he could do about it because those were the rules of their world. These were the rules he himself had set with Jerry, and now they were all being thrown back at him.

Jerry touched the tattoo on his shoulder briefly. "Now who has failed?" he asked. "Hm?" He struck the man in the middle of his back. "Who is the one unable to deliver? Who is the one in need of punishment?"

Ian stared at the sheets, haplessly bent over the bed and tied to the headboard. "It wasn't . . . " He licked his dry lips, swallowing down the outrage and humiliation. "It wasn't my fault. You've made worse mistakes, Jerry! You've done worse!"

"I've never injured a child! NOT A CHILD!" Jerry shouted. "Even at my worst, I would never have done anything so stupid!"

"I'm not stupid!" Devlin yelled, sounding a bit childish. "It was a ricochet! The bullet bounced off a pole! How the hell could I have stopped that? HOW?"

"You had to call it off the moment that boy walked in there, you idiot!" Jerry snapped. "I was trying to call you to tell you that, but even I never thought you'd be careless and cruel enough to go ahead with it!"

"Well if you were trying to call me, why couldn't you get through?" Ian asked, looking back over his shoulder accusingly. "It's your fault!"

"I'm not even going to dignify that. No, Ian, I'm the one in control now, and I say it's your fault." Jerry leaned over him, reaching around his waist and undoing his belt and zipper. "You were right, though. It is very cute when someone fights what they know they deserve."

"You bastard," scowled Ian. "Bastard!"

"Karma--" Jerry yanked down his pants, then his briefs, to his ankles. "--is a bitch--" He retrieved the belt from the floor, doubling it. "--isn't it?"

Ian's eyes watered as his cheeks turned red. "Jerry . . . "

Jerry's light eyes traveled the man's body, savoring the sight of his abuser helpless. "Hm?"

"I'll-I'll pay you," Ian said, lifting his head. "I'll . . . give you anything you want. Just . . . don't do this."

"Is that desperation?" Jerry laughed. "I don't need anything from you anymore, Devlin. All I need is for you to lie there--" He raised the thick leather belt, smirking with satisfaction. "--and take it."

It was not fun or arousing. A small part of Devlin had hoped it would be, if anything to distract him from the embarrassment of it. The moment the belt crossed his skin, fiery hot and jarringly painful, he realized just how little fun the 'game' he had so often played with Jerry was. He didn't even cry out, but not out of defiance, out of shock. He felt his body shake, and upon the second strike, he let a small, wounded sound escape his lips.

"How many times have you done this, or watched it being done? How many times have you gotten off from the sight of others hurting, hm?" Jerry taunted him. He struck him harder. "How many times did you do this to me?"

"You-you enjoyed it!" Ian exclaimed, all in a rush. "You-you did, you did, you . . . don't tell me you didn't!"

"I won't lie and say it wasn't what I needed or desired at the time." He frowned. "Which is why I can't fathom you. Are you so arrogant that you truly don't believe you deserve it?"

"Of course I don't!" Ian yelled tearfully. "It wasn't my fault!"

"That isn't the only thing I'm punishing you for!" Jerry pointed out, snapping the leather across the man's fair flesh again. "It's for your arrogance and your cruelty! You're a selfish, corrupt, evil man!"

"So are you!"

"Not anymore!" Jerry swallowed, pausing for just a second. "Not anymore . . . "

Devlin jumped in pain at the next whack. "Stop!" he howled. "Stop, Jerry! Stop!"

"Stop being such a baby," scoffed Jerry, continuing to beat him. "God, I never put up a fraction of such a fuss."

"You're a mercenary, I'm not," Devlin muttered. "Aaaaaaggghhh! I'm not--not--"

"Used to it?" smirked Jerry. "Yes, that's fairly obvious. You shouldn't have played games you didn't fully understand, then, Ian. Who ended up being the naughty child after all?"

Ian buried his face in his arms, feeling the wetness of his tears against his hot skin. He thought he could have at least taken it without losing it, but he could not. He wondered how Jerry could have taken so many beatings just like this, and only laughed or cried out for the sake of playing along. He suddenly realized that he wasn't really very strong at all, and his cunning could not always put him above everyone else. Sometimes, power meant whoever was strongest physically, and nothing more.

Devlin was soon sobbing, unable to argue anymore. He had never broken Jerry this way, at least not that he knew of, and he felt ludicrous for ever playing the man's owner. He was a fool. Jerry had known this, and had just been biding his time, waiting for the exact moment to rub it all in. Through his own stupidity, Devlin had handed him this opportunity, and now he was paying the price.

"No, noooo! NO!" Ian cried as Jerry struck his thighs. "Stop! That's enough! Jerry!"

"I almost pity you, you know," Jerry said, not relenting the least bit. "For all your pomp and authority, you're really a very weak man. I admit, you put up a terrific front, but that's all it was, wasn't it? Look at you. You're crying like a little boy, and I haven't even finished yet."

I always knew I wasn't strong.

But I had to use my intelligence to dominate everyone else, so I could feel strong.

"It's just a spanking," Jerry said, "that's all. Not even a modicum of what you deserve. No form of petty discipline could be."

They're my words. It's my belt, the very same one I had whipped him with just months ago. I wasn't strong. He wasn't mine. I was weak, and I was at his mercy. He knew what I was capable of, and every time he knew what I would do to him, and he accepted it. But I had no idea about him. It was me playing with fire this whole time.

"It was just a game, just a-a game," Devlin mumbled shakily. "You wanted to pl-play. You let me. Why are you punishing me for it now?"

"Because I can."

"That's it?" Devlin asked hoarsely. "That's it!"

"Yes."

"Aha ha ha ha," Devlin laughed in shock. "I don't believe it. I-- ha ha ha ha!"

"You're losing it," Jerry said, looking a bit unnerved. "So sad. I thought more of you."

"Well, I'm not! I'm not! I'm just a guy that shoots kids and can't even control his own business partner! Is that what you want to hear? Is it?"

"No, it's not." Jerry stopped for a moment, feeling the warmth of the leather in his hand, staring at the welts lining Ian's backside. "Do you want to know what it is I'm waiting to hear?"

"What?" Ian asked nastily.

"An apology." Jerry sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. Devlin looked back over at him, face scarlet and soaked with tears. Jerry almost fell into those big blue eyes, almost let himself sympathize, but remained stony. "I want you to apologize."

"You were right," scowled Devlin. "Satisfied?"

"That's not--"

"I'm sorry!" the man exclaimed as Jerry pinched his bruised bottom. "There! I said it!"

"You say it without sincerity."

"Stop quoting me!" shrieked Devlin. "Stop! Stop playing these sick games of yours!"

"Look who's talking," chuckled Jerry. "Come on, can't you do better than that?"

Devlin just turned his face, and Jerry sighed. "All right. Maybe you need something a bit more . . . humbling."

"What are you doing?" Devlin asked immediately as Jerry started untying him. He was too dazed to attempt an escape, and knew it wouldn't work, anyway. Jerry moved him easily, as if he were positioning a doll, and soon had draped him over his knees. "What are you doing! Stop!"

Jerry readied the belt again, completely comfortable with his dominance and entertained. "Aren't you enjoying this? Hm? You're not as kinky as you give yourself credit for being, you know," Jerry said, "old friend."

Ian stared at the floor in shock as the man cracked the belt across his now-upturned bottom ruthlessly. "I never . . . I never . . . was this cruel," he murmured. "You're a monster."

"Awww, poor little Devlin," Jerry said sarcastically. "Do you really think life's always so even? That it's fair?"

"No, I just--" Ian's words caught in his throat as he was struck again, new tears springing into his eyes. "It-it hurts so . . . so much, I . . . But it wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault."

"Stubborn brat."

Ian yelped weakly. "Aghh . . . but . . . I . . . I'm . . . "

Jerry looked at him curiously, prompting him to finish with another ringing whack.

"I'm sorry."

Jerry seemed surprised, and he stopped midway into another stroke. "Hmph. Didn't think you'd actually say it."

"Just l-let me . . . Just let me go, Jerry. Please."

At the sound of his own contrite words, the man buried his face in his hands and started shaking again. Jerry sighed, surveying the bruises. True, he had probably beaten the man badly enough to prevent him from walking for a few days, but he wanted to hurt him more. His sadism had been sadly ignored for so long that it was such a pleasure to have it fed . . .

"Oh, all right," Jerry said grudgingly. He pushed the man off his lap to the floor. "Fine."

Devlin curled up on the floor, hugging himself and sobbing uncontrollably. Jerry stood up, drawing a breath, and stared down at him. "It feels so indescribably good to see you broken," he said softly. "God, I've been waiting for this for years."

He knelt beside the crumbled man, touching his hair lightly. "You deserved it. You know that, don't you?"

Devlin just shook his head, crying too hard to speak.

"And now what do you think?" Jerry went on tormenting him. "Do you think I'll hold and cuddle you? Tell you it's all right? Give you comfort you don't deserve?"

"Just go away," Ian begged. "Just go away, Jerry. You won, so just go. Just . . . go . . . "

Jerry stared at him for a long time, the beaten man shaking and naked on the floor. He wanted him, to use him, but at the same time, he could sympathize. Conflicted, he sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the bed, and watched Ian's misery. Devlin just contained himself in his sorrow, not reaching out at all.

"I can't stand that hollering anymore. Come here."

Jerry pulled him onto his chest by the arm.

"No, don't, don't," Ian protested, weakly trying to squirm away. "Don't touch me!"

"There, there, it's over." Jerry exhaled, staring at the ceiling as he brought the man into his strong arms. "It's just over."

Devlin had no choice but to be held by him. The comfort did nothing to soothe his pride or his pain. Jerry seemed worn out, too, for some reason. Finally, he picked the man up in his arms and put him in bed. Leaning over him, he touched Devlin's face thoughtfully.

"I hope you are sorry, for your sake, Devlin."

He kissed Devlin lustfully, but Ian did not respond. He lay on his back, quiet and trembling, as Jerry touched his chest. Jerry seemed questioning and uncertain in his touch, but Devlin did nothing to stop him. He said nothing, just lay there and let the man continue to use him. Why not? He had nothing more to lose.

The next morning, Devlin woke up alone in bed. He tried to sit up, but could not. Too exhausted and depressed to do much else, he simply lay, hurting and letting fresh tears flow from his eyes. There was nowhere to go, anyway. Patrick would question the marks if he caught a glimpse of him changing into scrubs, and the bruise on his face had probably darkened even more. The hospital would be crawling with people either mourning or hoping for the boy, depending on whether he had survived this long, and he couldn't take that right now.

Time dragged on. The room was hot again. His stomach was turning with hunger, but he ignored it. The entire day passed, and he hardly even shifted on the bed. His light eyes stared into space, mind blank from the night's experience.

Jerry returned in the evening. He looked down at the defeated man, and seemed uncomfortable. "Get up."

"I can't," Ian said wearily. "I can't move."

Jerry tried to help him up, but it only ended with Devlin screaming in pain the moment his skin pressed into the sheets. At a loss, Jerry stood over him, uncertain of what to do.

"You really hated all of it, didn't you?" Jerry muttered.

"The sex was good," Ian said with a weird smile. "The sex . . . is always good . . . "

"I never thought you were capable of being this unhinged," Jerry murmured, stroking the man's hair. "I . . . I'm not sorry. You deserved every bit of it."

"But it's weird, huh, Jerry?" Devlin said knowingly. "Seeing the man that dominated you in such a pathetic state . . . "

"Yes, it is weird," Jerry agreed. He sat on the bed, uncovering Devlin to see the bruises. "Your act was so convincing . . . I thought you were strong."

"I was."

"No, you're very weak."

"Only physically."

Jerry shook his head. "You couldn't stand it, it drove you mad, and why?" he said gently. "It was just pain, that's all." He ran a hand over the man's body. "Your bottom, your thighs . . . like a child. Do you know the things I've been through?"

Devlin looked up at him, finally comprehending what being a mercenary truly meant. "You're right," he said quietly. "You're right, I . . . I never respected you for it. I just . . . dismissed . . . you . . . "

"Well, now you know better, don't you?" Jerry said cheerfully. He covered the man again, patting his bottom.

"Why are you here?" Devlin asked. "Came to keep bragging?" He finally forced himself to prop himself up on his elbows, then painfully knelt on the bed, wrapping the sheets around himself. "More sex? More S&M? What? Jerry? What do you want?"

"I . . . " Jerry stared at him, touching his face. "He's alive. I thought you should know."

"Like I care," Ian said bitterly. "I couldn't--"

Jerry gave him a warning look, and he bit his tongue.

"The boy survived, but he's in a coma," Jerry went on. He shifted to face Devlin fully. "Aren't you the least bit relieved that you didn't murder a child?"

Devlin looked sullen, refusing to say anything.

"You're not, are you?" Jerry observed in surprise. "You don't care . . . Or maybe you wish he had died? Are you that spiteful?"

"You told me what you came to tell me," Devlin said coldly. "Is that it?"

Jerry stood, looking disgusted. "Yes," he said vehemently. "That's all. I'm done here."

Devlin watched him storm to the door. He wanted him gone, gone forever, but something about being left alone in the room unnerved him. Before he could think, he said in a small voice, "Wait."

Jerry turned around, narrowing his eyes. Ian stared at him meekly, trying to decide why he had stopped him. His mind wasn't working at all, it was hazy and overtaken by his emotions. It was a strange state to be in for the man, who was used to always calculating every move carefully before reacting.

Jerry came to his bedside, and Ian could see in his eyes that he understood. He was still furious, but he was letting himself sympathize. The man sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Devlin's brown hair.

"Do you think I'm not scared enough?" Ian said quietly, lying back down. "I could die for this mistake. Do you even care?"

"Why should I care?"

"You're lying, I can tell," Ian said. "You didn't pull the trigger."

Jerry shut his eyes, drawing a breath. "When you said that being in this town made me soft, I hated you for it," he said. "But you were right. It has. And I like myself better for it."

"You're still a front for my drug smuggling, still a killer-for-hire, still mine," Ian insisted. "Aren't you?"

"I . . . haven't decided yet."

Ian lifted his face from the pillow. "What? What do you mean? You're not considering leaving, are you?"

"Getting out of this lifestyle is difficult, probably impossible," Jerry said knowingly. "Nonetheless, I . . . I have to make . . . changes."

"Like being the dominant one?"

Jerry sighed. "No, Ian, this is personal, not business," he said impatiently. "I know you always mix the two, but I don't."

"All right. I'm not up to discussing business right now, anyway," Devlin said. He shifted on the bed, closer to Jerry. "Why did you come back?"

Jerry was quiet, but Ian knew he had heard the question.

"I think I get it," he said softly. "You thought Claudia might have me killed today. You came--" He grinned. "--to keep watch. Just like my old enforcer Mr. Craig . . . "

"I hate you, but I haven't decided if I want to see you dead or not," Jerry said slowly. "It largely depends on you, Ian." He pulled Devlin closer, lifted him up so their faces were level. "Are you wallowing in self-pity while a child is lying in a hospital bed unable to wake? Or is your coldness simply an act? Are you sorry, Ian?"

Devlin flinched. "Yes . . . "

"No, don't do that." Jerry hesitated, and then kissed him. " . . . I'm not going to hit you," he murmured into his ear. "Just tell me the truth."

"Okay." Ian dragged himself up, wincing and drawing the sheets around himself. His light eyes hardened as they met Jerry's, a strong defiance gleaming within them, having bubbled up from the depths of his perceived victimization. "No. I don't care, Jerry."

Jerry frowned deeply, unable to hide his surprise. The fading light from sunset seemed to vanish, and it was just the two men in the heavy dark. Finally, Jerry stood, looking down at Ian coldly.

"I see."

He went to the door, and this time, Ian made no effort to stop him. He was angry and sick of them all. Most of all, he was sick of himself, playing the pathetic role of the submissive abused. Jerry turned back to him before going out, a furious expression etched into his face.

"I decided," he said quietly. "I do want you dead."

"Go ahead, try and see it happen," Ian scoffed. "You feed me to Sonny Corinthos, and I'll not only lead him straight to your door, but I'll send him after Claudia, as well. Mercenaries are just tools, remember? Don't you think the owner and the enabler are as much to blame?"

Jerry looked uncertain for a moment, hand tensing on the doorknob.

Devlin lifted his face, his old arrogance starting to fill the emptiness inside him. "I dare you to try it," he said. "Can't pull the trigger yourself? Fine. So, bring me to Sonny. Go ahead, Jerry. You can take abuse and blame, right? You're used to it, aren't you?"

"You little bastard . . . "

Devlin laughed, feeling good again. His terrible mirth was the last straw; Jerry came over and wrapped his hands around the man's throat, choking him. Devlin gagged, struggling desperately. "Stoppit!" he coughed. "Jerry!"

"You listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch," Jerry said, seething. "If not dead, you'd better be gone. Leave! I never want to see your smug little face again, is that clear?"

"Y-yes!" Ian choked. "Stop!"

Jerry released him, backing away slowly to the door. "I mean it," he said warningly, pointing at the man. "Count yourself lucky and leave once and for all. And don't you ever dare think of looking me back up, because I'll have you buried."

"Hmph." Devlin rubbed his neck, glaring at him.

"The next time, I will pull the trigger."

With that, Jerry left him. Ian scowled, leaning against his headboard sullenly. No. No. I'm not going anywhere, he thought angrily. I'm . . . I'm Doctor Ian Devlin, new pride of the Port Charles General Hospital. Why should I go anywhere?

A deranged smile lit the man's face, and he made an amused sound.

Who is he to order me around?

Fuck him.

End of Chapter Two

Chapter Three

The beating kept Ian off his feet for the next couple days, and the bruise on his face prevented him from going into the hospital (he could not afford suspicion right now). The man lay low, angry and alone, in his little property outside town. Once he was on his feet again, he forced himself to bear the agony of driving to find some company in the city.

It felt a little forced to be commanding with so many bruises still sore across his backside, but nonetheless, Devlin coldly picked out a pretty lady from the streets. He brought her along by the arm possessively to his car, slamming the door beside her. She seemed annoyed, but did not protest, of course.

Before they drove off, Devlin's car door was flung open. "Don't tell me this was a set-up, you bitch!" he shouted harshly at her, without even looking at who it was.

"Don't look at me, babe," she muttered, chewing her gum more fiercely.

"She's right, babe," a smooth, accented voice added.

Ian looked up, and Jerry was suddenly pulling him by the arm out of the car. Ian shut the door to block the hooker from hearing them, and shook Jerry off. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked darkly. "Are you following me?"

"Yes, actually, I have been," Jerry admitted. "Are you crazy? Driving around unguarded at a time like this, for cheap sex with corner prostitutes?"

"I'm fine," Devlin said angrily. "You're not going to tell me who to sleep with now, are you?"

Jerry came around the other side of the car and yanked the woman out of the vehicle. "Take this for the trouble, darling," he said, shoving some money into her palm. "My friend won't be requiring your services tonight."

Ian lifted his head haughtily, eyes flashing with anger. "Jerry . . . "

"I doubt that woman had any idea what you were planning to do with her," Jerry said. He came back to the driver's side and got in, then ordered Devlin to do the same.

Ian sighed, and climbed into the passenger seat. "Who cares?"

Jerry started the car. "I wouldn't wish the wrath of a fallen 'god' on any person," he replied. "You came out to reclaim something you lost when I punished you. It wasn't a game to you. I don't think it would be wise to trust yourself with a woman right now."

Devlin stayed silent, unable to argue. He has a point. Once I had that whore tied up, there's no telling what I would have done. I feel like I'm going to implode . . . or explode. I want to destroy someone in every way a person can be destroyed.

"There's murder in your eyes," Jerry said. "I know you, Ian. I know what you're capable of when you're upset."

"What does it matter to you, though?" Devlin asked wearily. "Let's say I kill some stupid hooker. So? Why would you care?"

"Hasn't there been enough death?" Jerry asked, temper flaring. "What's the matter with you?"

Devlin squeezed the bridge of his nose. " . . . I . . . I hate uncertainty," he said. "I can't stand not being in control. I can't stand this lying low garbage." He kicked at the dashboard. "Why the hell did the bullet stray? Why? I needed the Zaccharas. I needed you--" He paused, stopping himself before sounding too desperate. "I needed you to respect me again."

"I never stopped, until you failed that assassination so miserably," Jerry said.

"Yeah right," scowled Ian. "You were going about that Cooper Barrett, and you refused me over and over. Professionally, you left me hanging on the piers, just let them go wherever they are now, while my product is piling and piling! No one is working for me! I needed the respect that hit would have brought! I needed it so badly . . . "

"You lost your patience and temper, just took the shot," Jerry noted. "How very unprofessional."

Ian's mouth was turned down in a cat-like manner, and he was staring at the passing scenery as they left the city. "Think about what's most important to you, Jerry," he said softly. "Think about it being on the line, about to fall all over you in pieces. Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"Maybe." Jerry glanced at him. "But are you saying your drugs and power are what's most important to you?"

Devlin nodded.

"I almost pity you."

"Don't," Devlin said shortly. He shifted in his seat, then turned to Jerry. "I messed up, but at least I still have my reason. You're the one that's overemotional and fooling yourself into thinking you can escape this world. You can't, Jerry. It'll consume you, too."

"I know that," Jerry replied calmly. "I never doubted it, but after this . . . I . . . " His hard expression faltered, and he frowned in uncertainty. "I knew about the hit. I knew it was going to happen. And I said nothing."

"That's the smartest thing you have done, Jerry!"

"No, it's the dumbest!" Jerry argued. "If I had realized what it meant, I would have stopped it! Yes, I did not expect a child to be shot, but I did expect that same little boy to lose his father that night! And I did nothing!" He banged the steering wheel. "I did . . . nothing."

Ian's interest sparked in his bright blue eyes. "Is that guilt I'm hearing?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Jerry said, giving him a look. "I'm not going to let the man that made the biggest mistake of all punish me."

Devlin made a scornful sound, putting one foot on the dashboard.

"I always thought of you as the stern doctor, but you look very cute tonight," Jerry taunted him with a smug grin. "You're a bit younger than me, too, aren't you?"

"Yes," Devlin hissed. "Is that supposed to mean anything?"

Jerry shrugged.

"I'm not 'cute', I'm handsome," Devlin said defensively. "How dare you call the surgeon that reconstructed your face in every perfect detail 'cute'! That's just ludicrous."

"You're a cute doctor."

Ian twitched in annoyance. "Are you patronizing me now? I swear, Jerry--"

"Okay, okay," Jerry said. "Don't be so uptight. You call me 'cute', and I'm older than you."

"I'm getting tired of this new game of yours," Ian said direly. "I made a mistake, you punished me for it. We're even. But if you think this switch of positions is permanent, you had better think again."

"Sonny Corinthos and Jason Morgan trust me more than they would trust you," Jerry said. "Claudia Zacchara wouldn't lift a pretty, polished-red fingernail to help you. If I went to them and announced that I had found the sniper, what do you think would happen?"

"I would tell them about your lamented inaction," Devlin shot back. "Then what do you think would happen?"

"Who would verify my prior knowledge of the assassination?" Jerry pointed out. "Claudia? That would jeopardize her. And if you sold her out, do you think she would simply confess? Do you?"

Ian searched his eyes, stunned as he realized this man held something over his head that he could not fight. I know what I would do to Jerry if this had happened to him, he thought nervously. I've tortured him for worse, haven't I? Now I . . . I'm at his mercy. How far will he go? As far as I did? Farther? I've never been afraid of anyone before . . .

Devlin shifted again, uncomfortable on the needling sting of the bruises. I haven't felt like this, he thought with a frown. My stomach has . . . butterflies. I always thought that was a silly exaggeration, but there isn't any other way of describing it. The anger makes me hot, so blazing hot I can't stand it, and then there's Jerry.

Ian stared at the man. The man I tormented and used. No, he's not the same man. He's completely different. This is the mercenary I kept tempting, trying to bring out. I was under the foolish impression I could just smack him back down to submission if it ever surfaced again, but I was mistaken. He's stronger. I can't win if he's holding the trump card, and now he is. The face I created . . . scowling down at me, and those eyes . . . He's like ice. It's . . . like I always wanted to be . . .

"You don't have any sympathy for me," Devlin said quietly. "We're the same, but you don't care."

"If I don't even have sympathy for myself, why would I sympathize with you?" Jerry asked. "Do you even want sympathy?"

"You do," Jerry observed in surprise. "Regardless of what you say, you want my pity and comfort. How about that . . . "

The car stopped in front of the little building Devlin lived in, and Jerry faced him in the car. He took Ian's face in his hands, pondering him, feeling him. Ian shut his eyes, exhaling deeply.

I hate to admit it. I absolutely hate it. I hate this.

Jerry kissed him deeply, and Ian kissed him back eagerly.

But I can't deny how exciting it is. The rush of danger, pain, I . . . I feel alive. Everything about this is new, different, and that is intriguing. It's crazy to look at it as a game, but now I finally understand why it feels like one.

Jerry licked the corner of Ian's mouth, grinning. "Debauchery does become you," he said. "Tell me, Devlin, are you warming to the idea of being owned by me?"

"Jerry, shut up."

With a surge of his old dominance, he pushed Jerry back against the car door and climbed over him. I don't care who ends up being on top or where. I just want to devour him. Damn it, he's still my favorite plaything. We could plug bullets into each other's brains tomorrow, and only then would that change. I just . . . I just . . . I don't know. I'm drawn to him, I always have been. Like a moth to flame, I guess.

Or maybe it's because it's so hard to find partners as depraved as I am. Jerry is just as deviant, perhaps even more so. I love that about the bastard.

Jerry overtook him, and they bumped around the small front seat area of the car. Ian gave the man a forceful shove, and he hit his head on the car window. Swearing, and giving Ian a hard pinch on the thigh, he opened the door. The two tumbled out onto the ground, locked at the lips, tearing at one another. The night was hot, the air feeling good and steamy on Devlin's skin. He licked and bit and kissed the other man, playfully struggling to get control, even if he knew he couldn't.

Jerry kissed Devlin's neck, murmuring into his ear, "So, who is a whore now, hm?"

Devlin laughed, blushing a little. Jerry slapped his bottom, and for the first time, it didn't anger him. He was too enthralled by the newness of their reversed positions, the feeling of being the used as opposed to the user.

"You wanted it all along," Jerry said knowingly. He stood, pulling Devlin to his feet with him, and moving him towards the front door. "You were just waiting, begging, for someone strong enough to take you over. You, you are the bad boy, and you knew it all along. How perfectly evil."

They slammed into the door, Ian pressed against it, kissing violently. Devlin's hands wrapped themselves up in Jerry's hair, legs surrounding the man, writhing against him. Truthfully, I never meant to tempt this side of him, Devlin thought, lifting his eyes to the sky as Jerry sank his teeth into his neck. I didn't want to be punished, because I see no flaw in myself that should be punished. But, now that he's this strong and this passionate, I might as well enjoy it. God, it feels good.

Jerry somehow unlocked the door, and they stumbled in. Jerry sort of flung Devlin onto the bed, then went back to shut and lock the door. Devlin licked his lips, watching him in anticipation. As Jerry stood over him, he realized how tall he was, and how strapping his body. He shrank back a little, shoulders hunching slightly, and felt a wave of fear mixing with his lust.

Jerry climbed over him, kissing him, and stripped off his clothes piece by piece. Ian felt very thin and very pale beside him, vulnerable again. The fear was beginning to eclipse the desire, the more Jerry took charge; he held Devlin's arms down by the wrists, started guiding his motions, not allowing Devlin to struggle much anymore. Finally, he started pushing Devlin onto his stomach, and the panic set in.

"No, no," he breathed in protest. "Don't--"

"What?" huffed Jerry. "I'm not going to beat you, not tonight."

Devlin let him turn him over, only to receive a rather hard smack on the behind. He looked back over his shoulder at Jerry with a hurt frown, which Jerry laughed at. "Couldn't resist," he explained, tapping Devlin lightly a few times. "Sure you don't like it, Ian? Hmm?"

"No."

Jerry held him down more tightly, and sat himself up just a little. Devlin could see his eyes glimmering with cruel delight, and he realized that admitting to disliking punishment had only made Jerry want to hurt him all the more.

"You like it," Jerry said certainly. He smirked, starting to spank the man harder. "You'd just rather die than admit it out loud."

Devlin sighed, flinching at the wide palm slapping down on his sore flesh. "Whatever you say, Mr. Moreau."

"What a nice touch of compliancy," Jerry said cheerfully. He leaned down and bit Devlin's bottom.

Ian yelped, "Aow!"

Their eyes met, and they both started laughing. Jerry leaned over him to give him a kiss, before removing his own clothes hastily. Devlin kept an eye on him, not particularly wanting to be struck more, until Jerry turned his face away and took him by the shoulders.

It was only the second time Jerry had taken his body for his own, but it was completely different. Whereas he felt broken into and used the last time, as he lay in shocked defeat on the floor, this time he felt overtaken by pleasure. There was no act to put on, nothing to really prove; he could be pleasured without effort or the need to be perfect. In a way, it was refreshing.

I haven't allowed anyone to pleasure me . . . in a long time.

Jerry felt guilt in the afterglow of having Devlin. How could he even care about sex at a time like this, let alone desire the very man responsible for it all? His nephew was in a coma from which he may never wake, but all he wanted to do was get revenge for his own petty suffering, and teach Devlin a lesson. This was no naughty lover, but a cold-hearted murderer. Jerry knew this, but he always let it be pushed aside in the heat and satisfaction of the moment.

Devlin had fallen asleep on his chest, an arm slung around him. It was rare for him to be affectionate or needy, but pleasing to Jerry. He's human after all? Unless it's just bratty need for comfort.

Ian held him closer, frowning a bit and burying his face in Jerry's chest. Jerry shifted, feeling uncomfortable being this close to someone he despised so deeply. "I can't do this," he murmured to no one, moving Ian's arm off of himself. He sat up, slinging his legs down from the bed, and rubbed his face. "Not anymore."

Jerry got his clothes, dressed, and left the place without another word. In the bed, Ian opened his eyes at the sound of the door shutting, and a dark look came over his face. He knew he had lost Jerry once and for all, and it bothered him. It bothered him more than he had ever imagined it could, and though he did not move a single muscle, something was crawling under his skin. The feeling was painful and angry, hurt, jealous, and rejected. As he fell back into sleep, he felt an old darkness consuming him again.

Ian Devlin was not a man that liked to lose.

In the morning, Devlin ignored his pain and got out of bed. He showered, and put on fresh, clean clothes (a dark blue v-neck sweater, shirt, and jeans). It was warm out, and the sun was shining beautifully. Collecting himself, he left the cabin to find a decent meal.

It was still too early to face Port Charles, so Ian drove out to the nearest town beside it. He had woken up around noon, and the area was crowded with kids eating lunch from the nearby Port Charles University. He smiled a little as the droves of optimistic fools wafted by, each one believing their own talent to be the one that would save the world. It was refreshing to be around that scene again, if a little bittersweet.

A tall, handsome man entered the restaurant Devlin was dining in, but Ian took no notice, reading a newspaper. The man's dark brown eyes narrowed in surprise when he noticed Ian, and he left behind a gaggle of perky students to approach him. "Don't tell me 'Devil's come to prey on Port Charles?"

Ian looked up in surprise, and a grin slowly spread on his face.

"It is you, man," the black-haired man laughed, sitting down at his table. "How long has it been? Why didn't anyone tell me you were in town?"

"I didn't think you were around."

"Of course I am, spring break isn't for another few weeks!"

Patrick, you lying son-of-a--

"What brings you here of all places?"

"What? You don't think I came to catch up with my old friends?" Ian lied. "I'm at the hospital with Drake, and now here I am, catching up with you, Marquez. Just like old times."

"Don't say 'old' so much," groaned Peter Marquez, the 'underachieving English major' that had been a buddy of Patrick and Ian during their days at NYU. "Besides, you were a year over us."

"With age comes experience," Ian said. "Speaking of which, I hear you've racked up quite a lot of it."

"Yeah, I sure have," Pete nodded. "You?"

"Oh yes." Ian paused to finish chewing a bite of his pizza. "Then, the only one left out--"

"So, then it's just--"

"Patrick."

Their words mingled, and they laughed.

"You've seen what he's been reduced to?" Pete asked. "Aw, man . . . it's so depressing."

Thinking back to his failed attempts to seduce Drake, Ian agreed, "It certainly is."

"I tried to get him back to his old self, but it didn't work," Pete grumbled. "No matter what I did or said, nothing would get him unstuck from that Robin."

"Same here," Ian said. "I tried everything."

Pete gave him a look. "Hopefully not . . . everything everything."

Their eyes met, and Ian fell silent. Pete was the only one that knew both sides of Ian and was still alive. He had happened upon Ian trading drugs through college, and despite a large argument, he had never used the information against Devlin. He was the only person either lazy or kind enough to not turn around and try to stab Ian in the back, and was one of the few people Devlin actually liked.

"I was actually worried about you," Pete said, more quietly now. "I mean, when you vanished after graduating, I thought something had happened. I was sick trying to call you and track you down."

"Really?" Ian asked in surprise. "I didn't think anyone would notice, let alone care . . . "

"I did."

Ian stared at him, wondering why he cared so much. But it felt good to have someone look at him that way. For once, Ian was happy to simply have affection, instead of danger and pain.

Pete cleared his throat, a little sheepish at his own sincerity. "But here you are now. You look like you've done well for yourself."

Devlin smiled in self-satisfaction. "Yes, I'll say I have."

He thought Peter might question this, but he didn't. "Good, good," he said. "Well, Patrick may be dead weight, but maybe we can hang out, sometimes?"

"I'm going to be kind of busy," Ian said slowly. "You know, work."

"Oh, yeah. Work."

Pete's eyes were on Devlin's newspaper, reading the headline about Michael Corinthos' shooting. For one terrible moment, Ian thought he might have figured everything out. God, now I've got to kill him, too.

"I just hope you're careful," Pete said softly. "I already lost one friend, I don't want to lose another."

Devlin smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

Pete reached over and touched the fading bruise on his cheek. "You sure?"

"You know I like to play rough sometimes," Ian said shortly.

"Actually, I know the opposite," Pete replied. "You hate being punished."

Devlin twitched in annoyance, turning his face away.

"Let's get out of here, huh?" Pete suggested. "We can talk more freely."

Devlin looked down at his half-finished pizza. "Mm. Mm hm."

He took a slice with him, and a new soda. The two went out into the bright spring weather, Ian sqinting in annoyance at it. They went on foot to the campus, which was mostly empty around this time, and strode around lazily.

"I hear the criminal element is getting restless in town," Pete said. "Are you sure you want to get involved, Ian?"

"I never said I was involved, Pete."

"Don't lie to me," Pete said wearily. "If you didn't disappear because your drug dealings got you in trouble, then you must have disappeared to continue getting away with them, right?"

"You always were too smart for your own good, Marquez," Ian murmured. He smirked up at the man. "Makes me wonder why you chose such an unimportant 'profession', for lack of a more appropriate word."

"You're not going to distract me so easily," Pete said. "You're in trouble again, Ian, I can tell. You won't be able to keep cheating your way out."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," scowled Ian, "especially not from--"

Pete came around, took him by his face, and kissed him. Ian melted into the warm familiarity, realizing for the first time how much he had missed the man.

"I still care about you, Ian," Peter told him. "I'm not going to pry. You know I wouldn't do that. But don't ask me not to worry about you, all right?"

"Okay, Pete," Ian exhaled, gazing up into his eyes. "Heh. If you ever got too close, I could just kill you, anyway."

Pete laughed a little, then stopped, realizing he was serious. "Same old Devil," he said, shaking his head. "You're adorable, though. You haven't changed."

"A-adorable??"

They were in Pete's office now, and the man locked the door behind them. Ian sat on his desk, looking like a naughty student. "So, you're really a professor now," he said. "That's . . . funny."

Pete gave him a look. "Well, doctor, you are in my class now," he said. "Maybe I can teach you a lesson or two? Hm?"

"Maay-be."

Peter came up to him, between his legs, and kissed him. Devlin leaned into him, almost falling off the desk. As he was leaned back on the hard wood, Ian flinched. "Agh, ow."

Pete frowned in confusion. Devlin covered the slip-up by straddling the man's waist, arms encircling Pete's neck. Pete let it go for the moment, lifting off the man's sweater and opening his shirt. He licked Ian's neck, chest, and bit into his flesh. Ian nuzzled his face into the man's soft, lanky black hair, smelling him, letting his hands feel his smooth, bronze skin. Hot sex, no promises; it was just what he needed.

Peter was commanding, a man who liked sex on his terms. Try as he might to keep his bruised backside hidden, Peter eventually had him bent over the desk, and saw them as he moved down Devlin's jeans.

"Whoa, what happened?" Pete asked in shock. He instinctively rubbed the bruises, as if trying to make Ian feel better. "Who did this?"

"You said you wouldn't pry!" snapped Devlin.

"Okay, okay, you probably deserved it, anyway," muttered Pete.

Ian bit the man's ear, hard, making Pete wince. "Easy there, doctor," Pete laughed. "I was joking."

Ian grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face close. "Jokes aren't for the bedroom--" Devlin smirked. "--or classroom."

"You really haven't changed."

It went without saying that both men wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I really missed you."

Ian laughed uncontrollably, resting easily in Pete's arms. "You're a freakin' idiot," he said, sucking on Pete's fingers. "Too much sappy literature."

"Maybe," chuckled Pete. He tousled Ian's hair, then kissed his forehead. "But I think you missed me, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have yelled my name so much, would you?"

"Nostalgia, that's all," Devlin sniffed.

"Ah ha."

Peter kissed him, and he smiled a little bit goofily. Pete touched the tip of his nose playfully. "You did miss me. Admit it."

"I missed your body," Devlin said, moving down to kiss the man's chest, then his stomach, waist. "Mmm, that's it."

"Good enough."

Devlin stretched his arms, and a stack of papers collapsed from the desk behind them onto the two. One particular flyer caught Devlin's attention, and he picked it up. "What's this?"

"Some party," Pete said.

"You going?" Ian snorted in amusement. "Get a load of the name, it's straight out of one of your stupid novels: The Haunted Star. Oooh."

"Too swanky for me," Pete shrugged. "I'm not going. I'm sure the town'll all be there, but not me. Not enough fine girls."

Ian, however, looked very interested. Jerry would be there, and so would the Zaccharas, as they were funding it. A grin slowly spread over his face.

"You're going, aren't you?" Pete said knowingly. "It's tomorrow, you know."

"I think I'll grace them with my presence, yes," Ian said smugly.

"Just be--"

"Yeah, yeah, careful, I know," scoffed Ian. "Don't worry about me, Marquez."

"Hey, that worry saved your cute ass a few times in school, you know," Pete pointed out, pinching him.

"Ow!" Devlin punched the man's shoulder, hard. "Well, this isn't school. You can't save me anymore."

"You're saying you're in need of saving?"

"No! God!" Ian tackled him, looking down at the man and tracing his face with a finger. "I'm saying . . . stop looking for drama and just pleasure me, all right?"

Pete grinned. "Can do."

He overtook Devlin, and the two continued wrecking the small office.

He spent the day with his old friend, relieved to have found someone who hadn't been overtaken by morals and stupidity. After leaving Pete finally, Ian went to find a tuxedo for the next night's occasion.

I miss the old days, he thought as he suited up in a dressing room, looking in the mirror. Age hasn't affected my face, true, but there was something back then that I haven't found since . . . Youth, maybe. Who knows?

Anyway, I'm not going to give up the more respectable half of my double life. Jerry can go to hell. If I turn in Claudia to Sonny, she'll bring him down with her, I'm sure. So, actually, I'm still holding the better hand.

Devlin nodded at the fit, and began undressing again. The bruises were fading, along with the pain, and slowly his ego was returning. More than ever, he felt that he had to win this little game of Jerry's.

Using Claudia wouldn't exactly be a fruitless course of action, either, he thought as a smile lit his boyish face. She's a gorgeous, damaged woman-- the perfect type to rough up. Before I can go back to roughing up Jerry, if I ever even can, I'll see that beautiful woman at my mercy. I just can't wait to see her squirm tomorrow night at the casino.

They'll be sorry. I'll make them sorry. Then, I'll be in control again. And if not, they're both going straight down to hell with me.

To live and not to breathe
Is to die In tragedy
To run, to run away
To find what you believe
And I leave behind
This hurricane of fucking lies
I lost my faith to this
This town that don't exist

So I run
I run away
To the light of masochist
And I leave behind
This hurricane of fucking lies
And I walked this line
A million and one fucking times
But not this time

I don't feel any shame
I won't apologize

When there ain't nowhere you can go
Running away from pain
When you've been victimized
Tales from another broken home

You're leaving...
You're leaving...
You're leaving...
Ah you're leaving home...

"Jesus of Suburbia: Part 5" by Green Day