Disclaimer: This story contains mature themes, naughty language, and gay sexuality. If you are uncomfortable with that or under-age, don't read it. I don't know Rob Thomas or Stephan Jenkins. I seriously doubt they're gay, but what do I know? Anyway, it's just fiction and no malice is intended towards them.

Notes: Italics denote a flashback.

Hi everyone! Sorry about those nasty colors on the last chapter. I guess some browsers had trouble with them. Anyway, I hope y'all are enjoying the story. I'd really love to hear your comments! Mail Me

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Chapter Two: Say My Name

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing." Rob kept his tone as bitter as he dared, knowing that this man could throw him over the bar in a second and in a place like this, if anyone noticed, he was more likely to get a thrashing for interrupting a man's drink than a helping hand. Maybe this jackass in front of him would get thrashed, too. One could only hope. Damn shame he was never any good at hoping. And now the man was leaning in closer to him. His hand was planted behind Rob, brushing his ass.

"Tell me something, sweetheart," the voice purred, "you were looking for me, weren't you?"


"Well now, isn't that funny. I'm pretty sure I was looking for you."

Rob dropped his eyes. Focused on the man's shoulder. His fingers itched. He balled them up. Waited. The moment had to be right. The timing perfect. Suicide to strike without surprising him, catching him off guard. The man leaned closer. His dark hair brushed Rob's cheek. "Come home with me."


"I wasn't asking you." The hand at his ass squeezed gently. Rob rocked forward, against the man's crotch. He slammed himself back. The hand was better than that unnatural hardness. Perhaps if he weren't so naive he would have known that this man wasn't the only man in the room, or in his life, who'd reacted like this because of him. Perhaps if he weren't so naive he wouldn't be in places like this.

"Help me!" Rob yelled, but it came out more as a garbled yip.

"I wouldn't do that, partner. These guys wanna fuck you worse than I do. And they won't take your number later."

Rob blinked. His eyes darted around the dark room. It smelled of spilled beer and piss. The band played on. No one cared. Rob counted 12 pairs of eyes on him. Lustful eyes. There were more, he knew, without looking for them. He glared at the man before him. The man met his glare with a playful smile.

"I thought you said that I was the one who'd be fucking you, not the other way around," Rob challenged.

"Makes no difference to me. However you want it," came the answer.

"What if I want you to get your asshole self away from me?" he snarled.

The man laughed at this. "Tell you what," he said, "if you can guess my name, I'll let you go."

"Rumpelstiltskin," Rob snapped.

The man laughed again. His hand dropped from Rob's side. Rob's fist, still tight through all this, struck. Hand to belly. The man staggered. He didn't fall. But it was enough. Enough for Rob to break free. He ran for the door. The men whooped and hollered. It echoed in his ears. He burst out into the cold night and ran. He ran until the only thing he heard was a second pair of footsteps chasing him. And then he ran until the only thing he heard was his own footsteps, crashing down in the snow, following a road he couldn't see, taking him to a place he didn't know. Another place he didn't know. He ran until his legs gave out beneath him and he fell, crashing, into the ditch. He stayed on the wet leaves and broken twigs, letting the snow gently bury him. He'd never wanted to die like this. Maybe if he'd been conscious he would have moved. But he wasn't. So he stayed, and let himself die. And then...he was awake. Thrashing beneath a blanket. Tied down. And the sky was moving. He screamed, but his throat was dry. Another garbled yip. And then... "Heads up!" something flying at him. He caught it and didn't know if he was more surprised that his hands were free or that it was a bottle of water. A coke bottle, but still. He drank it all. As his body warmed, his head cleared. He was in a car. In the backseat. The car was moving. So someone had to be in the front. He looked slowly. He didn't want to know. He already knew. Curly black hair.


The driver turned, grinned at him. "Glad to see you , too."

"Untie me!"

The man chuckled. "You aren't tied. It's just your seatbelt."

Rob snapped it off. He threw the blanket off himself. "You can just drop me off here."

"Here? In the forest? I don't know where you think you are, boy, but this isn't the place to be dropped off."

"Where are we going?"

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"To your house?"

A curt nod.

"Because I didn't guess your name?"

"Because you didn't even try."

"Michael? John? Matt? Elroy?"

"Too late, kid."

"Peter? Paul? Jesus!" Rob was growing frantic now. The car pulled over. He bolted for the door, but the man grabbed him, twisted him.

"Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you, alright? I'm not a fucking rapist."

Rob bared his teeth. "Why the fuck should I believe you?" The man loosened his grip, almost let go, but not quite. The remark struck a nerve with him. He seemed regretful. Almost. He closed his mouth. Waited. Slowly, Rob lowered himself into his seat. He left the belt undone. Keep the hindrances between himself and the door minimal.

The man said, "My name, it's..."


End of Chapter Two

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