If you do enjoy Bear & Cub, please read some of my other works on Nifty & AO3 (TuxEdwards): Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), Go Bag (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Bear & Cub is for you: Foxfire3730@proton.me

 

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"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Dreams

Clyde Burns

I whisper in his ear, "Are you okay, Gus?" 

He cuddles next to Ryder like the two boys belong skin to skin. My eyes roll to the top of my head as he repositions himself and scoots his bare ass against my pajama bottoms. Inside them, my cock is already hardening. I go to lay my arm on him, but I hesitate. Where can you lay your arm on a naked boy so that it's not sexual? My arm hovers above this boy as I move it to different places on his little body and try to think about how it might look from his perspective. Finding one that is comfortable for me and is as innocent as it can be, I lay it over his smooth, tan chest and am able to rest my hand on Ryder's chest. Once I'm settled, Gus's body seems to relax into the bed. Then Bear jumps on the bed and finds a comfortable corner of it.

Gus softly whispered my answer: "Call me, Cub."

Sometime during the night

I'm in an interrogation room and am handcuffed to the table. "What's going on? How'd I get here?" I ask no one as I look around the empty room, trying to get a fix on where I am. 

Suddenly, from in front of me, I hear a harsh voice, startling me. It sounds like someone who has been crying for hours and is just now forcing themselves to talk. "Where is my son? Why haven't you found him?"

Flashes of a boy lying on the cold street covered in dark bruises and cuts that look like they were done with a belt or paddle of some type slam into me, making me disoriented. "I... your son.... What's going on?" I answer her question with one of my own, holding my head. 

"Chevy... Andrew... Hunter... Craig... Lee...," the voice continues to shriek, and each time another boy's tragic ending slams into me as if my grief is a solid weapon punishing me for my past sins. When I open my eyes, I'm on a dark downtown street, and a smoke trail curls around my fingers as my cigarette slowly burns into the filter. I take the last drag on it, and I can feel the tension release from my body. I recognize this dark street. It was hot as hell that night. Earlier that night, I was sound asleep when one of my snitch contacts called me, waking me up. She said she saw the boy I had been looking for for three months. 

I drop my cigarette, and it bounces a few times before I step on it, crushing it and leaving a faint smoke trail on the pavement. I hurry across the street and enter a small `Quicky Stop.' It's a small, one-stop shitty shopping store. A small Asian woman who runs this establishment is sitting on a stool in the back, seemingly unable to move. She totally ignores me and watches a small black-and-white TV up on a shelf with a coat hanger for an antenna.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for more dill pickles, and the shelf is empty. Do you have any more in the back?" She looks at me crossly, and I add, "My wife is pregnant; please don't make me tell her you don't have any."

She hops off her stool and unlocks the back door with a key, heading to the back room. Looking through the door, the back room looks normal. I take a deep breath and follow her as I pull my pistol from my back holster. She doesn't even see me as I take a quick left and head down the basement stairs. Hoping my contact's direction are correct, I sneak around a few short hallways, dodging a few Asian men with guns. One more turn, and this should be his room. 

When the coast is clear, I open the skinny door to find a small room with an equally small bed. There is a rack on the wall with a paddle, a short whip, and a few adult-sized dildos and butt plugs. A frail boy sits on the bed, about seven years old, with his head hanging low. He's blonde, skinny, and naked. I can see the tattletale signs of his previous 'John' abuse on his chest, thighs, and around his neck. Closing the door, the latch startles the boy, and he quickly lays down and spreads his legs wide, exposing his bruised and well-used bottom and hole. Cum slowly oozes from his overly stretched butthole. My eyes switch to his lifeless face, which stares off into the nothingness that his life has become. I put my gun in the back holster and took off my t-shirt. Kneeling down by the bed, I gently pull his legs down and help him sit up. 

"Bucky, Bucky Romo?" I ask as I slip the t-shirt over his naked form and fish his thin, limp arms through the holes. "Son, I'm going to get you out of here. When I pick you up, I need you to close your eyes, put your head on my shoulder, and hold on tight."

He doesn't respond, but when I pick him up, he lays his head on my shoulder, either out of exhaustion or because I asked him too. I gently drag my hand over his eyes and remind him, "Keep them closed, okay?" He whispers a soft whimper that I take as acknowledgment. Taking a deep breath, I open the door slowly to check the hall. Two men just walked by, and I watched their backs disappear behind the far corner. God, I could really use a cigarette. 

I hurry my way out, trying to retrace my steps, and I pass two men. I look down, hoping that they can't tell that my skin color is white, and I even get a few feet from them when one of them asks me something in Mandarin, maybe. Whatever he said, I didn't understand him, but his intention was very clear. So I keep walking at a steady pace. I notice that Bucky grips me with new-found strength. 

The Asian repeats himself, and I turn the last corner, heading to the stairs. I quicken my stride and am halfway up the stairs before the two men run around the corner. I slam the door shut and jam a chair up under the door knob. I pull my gun and spare a few seconds to make sure they aren't going to blast through the door. The commotion grabs the attention of a man coming out of the bathroom, and I see him staring at me as he tucks in his oversize button-up shirt. Our eyes meet, and then his eyes shift to the t-shirt-covered boy holding onto me for dear life. 

He goes for his gun, and I take off in a full run. I can hear the old lady yelling something at me as gunshots ring out behind me. Cereal boxes and jars of jelly and dill pickles explode around me, surrounding me in an odd smell of grape and dill. I've got to get outside! I've got to get to the Jeep!

I spin around and decide to fire a couple helpless rounds into the store to scare the shooter back, and it worked for the most part. But as I spun and squeezed my warning shots, I felt something hit the boy. It was like someone punched him or hit him with a bat. The man ran back into the store and hid behind some shelves. 

I get behind my old Jeep and drop down to my knees. Pulling my phone out, I call dispatch, saying, "Officer needs assistance! Need emergency personnel also; civilian shot, boy about seven."

Bucky let's go of me, and I lay the limp boy on the ground. I check to make sure we're clear and then take the bloody t-shirt off his weak body, using it to stop the bleeding. I used my phone flashlight to find the bullet wound on his back. It's bad. It's so bad, I'm at a loss for words. 

He weakly asks, "Am I free now?"

My words get stuck in my throat, and so I simply nod.

"I feel cold...." he says. He takes in two short breaths as I squeeze his hand, and with his last breath, he whispers, "Am I going to die?"

I bolt up in bed in a cold sweat and search the room for my failings and regrets. The room is still except for my heaving and rapid breathing. "A dream. It was only a dream," I tell myself. I carefully lean over the boys and open the nightstand, finding an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. I laid the bottle on the floor and pulled my arm from under the boys ever so carefully, trying not to wake them. Heading to the kitchen, I check two more drawers in the living room to find empty bottles, and I sigh to myself, thinking, `I think I might have a problem.'

Retrieving a fresh, unopened bottle from the kitchen cabinets, I head to the table next to the window that looks out over the street and into the ocean. Pouring the bitty, charcoal-flavored liquid into a semi-clean glass, I hear the list of names that have defined my life: `Chevy... Andrew... Hunter... Craig... Lee... Bucky." These six boys are the few out of hundreds that I searched for and found too late. But these six were different. These six... I take a drink and drain it until I can see the reflection of the moonlight on the waves through the bottom of the dirty glass. 

"Those six...," I whisper very quietly, as if I'm afraid they will hear me remembering their stories. I fill my glass one more time and go to drink it down in one gulp when a small hand covers the top of the glass, stopping me. My eyes are hypnotized by the dark golden liquid swirling in the three-inch glass. The last unanswered question of a dying boy echoes in my head: `Am I going to die?' 

I slowly drag my eyes to my left and see a small boy blanketed in shadow, gripped by whatever haunting memory is chasing him. Not knowing if he's real or not, I ask him, "Bucky?" 

He pries the drinking glass from my grip and whispers, "Burns, it's me. I, um, I had a nightmare." Gus sets my drinking glass on the table, and I clear my eyes of the tears I've been crying since I woke up before he notices. Seeing the small boy, so innocent, so delicate, stand there hugging himself to prevent the chill of the night's touch. Knowing how I failed those six and these two, now depend on me causes my lip quiver as my emotions begin to well up in me again.

I attempt to lift the naked boy into my lap before he sees me break down into another round of tears, but the moonlight reveals the shiny trails of my shame. His little hand tentatively reaches my cheek and softly wipes the tears away. He sleepily considers the thin liquid briefly, deciding that it doesn't matter that I'm crying, he lays his head on my chest. I hold him tightly and let the warmth of his little body comfort me. `I can't lose these two,' I tell myself before I stand up. Walking over to the rocking chair, I carefully lower us into the cushion. We get comfortable, and then I gently rock Gus in my arms, whispering to him, "A dream, Cub. It was only a dream."

Gus

Bright light shines through my eyelids, but I refuse to give up the comfy situation I'm in. My hand reaches down my body, and I part my legs to scratch my balls. Oh yeah, that's good. I love how they roll around and how it feels when I play with them. My stiff little pecker moves and wiggles about, rubbing its very sensitive head on the blankets, making it ache to be played with. 

"Want me to take care of that stiffy for you?" Ryder asks, who, by the way, is interrupting my most personal moment. 

My embarrassment flashes over me in a wave, and I'm sure it's visible from toes to nose. The sheet, down at my feet, lifts up, and I look inside my blankets, down to my feet, to see Ryder and his magnificent brown bedhead crawling towards my nuts. "Ryder, um, Ryder, you don't have too, um," I stammer and try to pinch my legs together, but he's already between them. 

"Cwyde says that I don't have to do anything I don't want to if it makes me feew uncomfortabwe or I hate doing it with my body. I want to do this, though. Am I making you uncomfortabwe? Shouwd I stop?"

I've never had a boy `bob on my knob' before, and if I'm being truthful with myself, I really want this! I've wanted this ever since the first time I saw him hopping out of the bathroom with his little pecker bouncing around. Will he think of me any less? My cock is aching and it wants this, and before I can go over this with him, I feel my head nodding `yes' as the glorious warmth of Ryder's mouth surrounds my hard-on. My eyes uncontrollably roll back in my head as he begins a slow rhythm of ups and downs on my cockpole. My hands instinctually tangle in his brown bedhead and match his slow rhythm, driving me crazy. 

My toes curl, and my cock pops out of his mouth. I open my eyes and see him slowly moving toward my balls. His tongue laps at each ball separately, then with one quick slurp, he takes them both in his mouth, and I experience something I've never felt before. His soft tongue expertly moves my balls around gently and rubbed them against my body. 

Once more, he places my nuts and cock in his mouth and massages them tenderly, thereby increasing my sexual energy. Then, Ryder looks up to me and says, "Are you up yet?" 

I let out some moaning and whimpers as I looked at him, confusingly responding, "What was that? Did you say something?" 

"I asked if you were awake yet," Ryder asks me way too clearly to be said with a pair of balls and my cock in his mouth.

Suddenly, my toes curl and my back arches as a shattering dry orgasm fills my body. My eyes blink open, and I find myself under a very soft blanket covered in a slick sweat. I seem to be out of breath and find my hands locked on my junk. I release my incredibly hard dick to pull the blanket from my eyes. The room is bright with sunlight, and not two feet from my face is Ryder's ass. 

Ryder is on his knees and bent over the coffee table, working very hard at something. "What time is it?" I ask as I sit up and enjoy the view. Ryder has scars on his ass and lower back, along with burn marks that I recognize as cigarette or cigar burns. Ryder's had a hard life. I suddenly feel really guilty for the dream that I totally enjoyed.

"It's 10:00 in the morning. Uncwe said to wet you sweep as wong as you couwd. My first coupwe nights here were rough on me too. It stiww feews odd going to bed without being punished or waking up without it," he says, and his voice trails to a whisper by the end. Colored pencils move feverishly around some paper as he wiggles his ass in my direction. "By the way, that must have been some dream; you've been moaning and whining for wike a hawf an hour. It's been reawwy funny," he adds, laughing.

The feeling of a very full bladder hits me, and I hurry to the bathroom. My stream is powerful and feels so good coming out. I shake the last few drops off the little mushroom head and rush back to the couch. Leaping over the back of it, I land and bounce, pulling the covers back up over my lap. "What are you drawing?" I ask, lean over, and slap Ryder's plump bubble ass playfully. 

"Hey!" He shouts and giggles at the shocked look on my face. He jumps up on the couch, and we wrestle around. He's thin and weak. He definitely didn't grow up on the street. Even though he's a year younger than me, I think eight-year-olds are supposed to be bigger. Our bodies rub together, only separated by the blanket that got trapped between us. He's easy to move around, so I push, pull, and wrap him up in hugs to his delight. Eventually we fall off the couch in a lump of arms, legs, and blankets, laughing at each other. 

"Where's Burns?" 

Ryder giggles some as we untangle our naked bodies, saying, "He's downstairs in room five. That's his office, where he works on his cases." I head over to the bedroom area to put my pants on, but Ryder stops me by saying, "We don't have to wear cwothes if we stay in the apartment. I thought maybe we couwd both stay naked. I wouwd feew more comfortabwe if I wasn't the onwy one."

I look at my pants in my hands and figure that it's not like he hasn't already seen my boner, so with a shrug, I toss my pants on the bed and turn to a smiling Ryder at the kitchen table. Heading over to the table, I take a seat next to a drinking glass next to a half-empty liquor bottle of Jack Daniels. "What are we supposed to do today?" I ask, dangling my legs, then ask another question, "And what are we supposed to eat, just Jack Daniels? I prefer whiskey."

Ryder's face lights up, and he hops off his chair and hurries to the kitchen. I watch from my chair as he grabs a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and a half gallon of milk. He rushes back and asks, "Have you tried these? These are so good." He takes one of the unused chairs, pulls it back into the kitchen, and sets it next to the kitchen cabinets. Climbing the chair, he retrieves two bowls and spoons before prancing back to me. I chuckle a little at the sight of his little, jiggly bubble-butt. 

Milk gets spilled, and cheerios cover the table by the time we're done eating. I toss a towel on the milk so it can soak it up, and we hurry to play video games. 

Clyde Burns

Palms Hotel, Room Five

 Smith, Jen, the Miller brothers, Bear, and I toil over what we have so far. Well, Bear is mostly sleeping next to the door, but he does provide us with some entertainment when the time is right. After telling the guys about the run-in with the nurse and Bear, Smith brought Bear a K9 Officer Kevlar vest as a joke. We all had a good laugh, but in the back of my head, I'm thinking it's not a bad idea. It's been over a month since we got some serious leads on the boy trafficking syndicate. This syndicate has tormented my life and destroyed so many boy lives that it makes me ashamed to be a boylover. My office is cluttered with boxes of leads and evidence. There are four dry-erase boards full of timelines and suspects. 

Smith is currently getting me caught up on what they found out: "...the sticker the boy remembered was on the black car belonging to a security company called `Shepard Security.' They are run by this man, Toby Mate. We've got someone watching the business, but nothing yet." 

Jen sighs and adds, "Two more dead boys were found in dumpsters last night. Tommy Mitchell, nine years old, and Michael Marr, seven years old. Same M.O.: naked, sexual assault, abused, and then dumped. Except, these two from last night had were wearing cat collars and the little one had a cat tail buttplug in his bottom. The collars and buttplug match the ones found at the Beverly Hills Hotel murders a month ago. These two make six total that were found like that since that night."

"I estimated at least ten boys were there that night, maybe as many as fifteen. Keep your eyes open for the others. It's probably going to be more if we don't stop them," I add when Jen's done.

"Our contacts down by the docks say the Armenians have another super secret shipment coming in," begins Mark Miller.

Mac Miller, his twin, picks up where his brother left off: "He says they are definitely bringing in people in those shipping containers, could be boys. The six from the last month or so have been the only boys we could identify. It makes since that the other boys are smuggled into this country."

"Okay," I begin, "so I suspect this Toby is trying to start up his own `boy business,' and the Armenian syndicate is making sure he can't get any ground. I'll show the witness Toby's photo and see if I can get confirmation that he is our rich kid entrepreneur. We don't need a war on the streets about boy trafficking between Armenians and Beverly Hills rich kids. We need to fine the Armenian syndicate and stop their boy business, sending a message to the little guy who thinks about starting one of these boy auctions that we will find them. Someone is out there selling young boys into torture and, most of the time, to their deaths. I've been on this case for my entire career at SCU, and I've never been this close. Let's get to it."

The room becomes a tornado of talking and movement as everyone gets to work. After lighting another cigarette and drinking the whiskey in my coffee mug, I shift through the pictures of the surveillance, looking for just the right one. I collect a small stack of pictures I think might help, whistle for Bear to follow me, and head upstairs to room ten. 

I knock on the door three times, wait a second or two, then knock two more times. A sweet musical voice from inside yells, "Coming!" The door opens, and a perfect, smooth-skinned boy stands before me with a smile that would lift anyone's heart. Bear bolts inside and Ryder says excitedly, "Uncwe's home!" He hops up and down and comes out to hug me. I scoop him up and hurry inside before someone sees me holding a naked eight-year-old boy. 

"Hey guys. I'm only here for lunch," I tell both boys as Gus wrestles with Bear in the video game area.

Gus tells Bear to stop with some German words, "Sitz, so ist bray," and the dog stops, sits, and gets petted. When he's done petting Bear, he hurries over. He acts so tough, and it comes off as so endearing. If I wasn't holding Ryder, I bet he would have shook my hand or given me what the kids call a `bro-hug.' Instead, he follows me to the table, where I set Ryder on the floor. 

Looking at the mess on the table, I glance at the two guilty boys standing next to me. "Did you two enjoy the cheerios?" I ask and set the photos on the last clean area on the table. We take five minutes to clean up the mess together before we get to brass tacks. Once the table is clean and everything is back where it belongs, I take a seat with a boy on either side of my chair. Gus's curiosity gets the better of him, and he cranes his neck to see what's in my hand. 

"Here, boys, take a look at these pictures," I say as I scatter the photos in a random mess on the tabletop. "Tell me if you recognize anyone in them." I half expected Gus to know someone, but Ryder is the key to this whole thing. I'm pretty sure the Armenians are the people who leased Ryder out to the DA, but I need him to tell me. If he found something in these photos, it would be a huge lead in this case. "Take your time, boys. Really think about it," I say softly and as supportively as I can.

The boys pick up the pictures one by one and study them. It's a slow process. Not only do they have to recognize a person's face, but they also have to be brave enough to tell me. Ryder has been staring at this one particular picture for a while now and slinking into my lap for comfort. Right before I ask Ryder to tell me about that photo, Gus interrupts my intent by saying, "This guy is here, the blonde guy with short hair. He's the man that gave me the card and the invite to the boy auction."

"You're kidding me?" I ask and look over his shoulder at his picture. It's a picture of Toby Mate getting out of the backseat of one of his black cars. "Good job, Cub," I share my excitement with him and give him as much of a hug as I can with Ryder in my lap. I take the picture from him and turn my attention to the boy in my lap, asking, "Ryder, do you recognize that picture?"

Ryder's body begins to shake, and he gently lays the photo down on the table. He shakes his head unconvincingly `no' and buries his head into my chest. I rub his back and try to think of a way to get him to tell me, but I'm at a loss. Whatever he saw in that picture, he's keeping it to himself for now. 

Gus looks at me concerned, and I mouth, 'It's okay.' "Cub, please gather the pictures for me," I ask him as I stand with Ryder latched to my neck. "Shhh, calm down. You're doing great, Ryder. You're safe with me, and there's no reason to be upset." 

"So, Burns, is this what we're doing today? Are we going to track this guy down?"

"No, you two monkeys are staying here today. Officer Jen's mother will be here after lunch to watch you two." 

"What! A babysitter? Come on, Burns, I've lived on the streets my whole life; I don't need a babysitter! Let's track down the guy in my picture."

"Cub, calm down. You two aren't babies by any means, but you both have some real angry men out there trying to hurt you. Janet used to be a SCU detective, and she's great with kids. Think of her as a bodyguard. Bodyguards are cool, right? You like her, don't you, Ryder?"

Ryder lifts his head and wipes a few loose tears, saying, "She's reaw nice. She even took me to the beach one day wast week and wet me swim."

"You guys will have fun with her, trust me." I tell them both and help Ryder off my lap as I continue, "As much as it is a shame to cover up two very beautiful boys, why don't you both go put on swimsuits and tank tops? Let's go get lunch."

Suddenly Ryder switches gears and is back to being happy-go-lucky: "Buwgews! Can we get Beach Buwgews, please?"

I chuckle and take the photos from Gus before the two scamper off to the bedroom to get dressed. "Sure, if that is what you two want," I say as I look through the pictures for the one Ryder was looking at. It's a building in one of the old industrial areas in town. There is a black van parked next to it, and a man is outside smoking a cigarette. It's a bad picture. You can't even make out what the man's face looks like or read the license plate. On the back is the building's address; maybe I'll go take a closer look after lunch.

The boys, the dog, and I all pile in the Jeep and head to `Beach Burgers.' Beach Burgers is where you would think it would be; it's on the beach. It's not much more than a food truck that never leaves the parking lot and half a dozen picnic tables. But it's on the beach, so it's Ryder's favorite place for lunch. 

Finding a parking spot isn't hard; most people are at work. We get to the food truck and get our food. We always sit at the same table. It's the farthest one from the food truck, so it's right on the sand. That way, when he's done eating, Ryder and Bear can go play in the water for a little while, and today is no different. Gus has, for now, decided to stay at the picnic table and plead his case with me one more time.

"You know, Burns, I was locked in that hospital room for a month! I don't want to be locked in your apartment for much longer."

"Hey, where is this hostility coming from? It's been one day. I'm keeping you safe, Cub. I need to know you two are safe." 

"I can help. I've got contacts all over the city..."

"By staying home and being safe, you are helping. Besides, you identified the man in the photo. That was a huge help. Now, Cub, I just want you to be a boy and have fun instead of worrying about where your next meal is coming from or if you even get to eat. You can stay with me for as long as you want, and if you really want to go back to the streets when this is over, it will really hurt me, but I will let you go, deal?"

"When this is done?" He confirms my deal a little too quickly for my taste.

I nod and answer him, "Sure, but you don't have to. This is my last case. I'm retiring early and will be able to spend all my time with you boys. Just give it some thought."

Gus studies my face, probably looking for signs that I'm bullshitting him. After a few seconds, he gets up, gives me a hug, and then joins Bear and Ryder in the ocean.

Once Gus is out of earshot, I call Smith, "Yeah, it's Burns. He identified Toby right away. Why don't you bring in that rich shit and let him sweat it out in lockup till I get there? I will admit that Toby's definitely the lesser of two evils. Let's see if we can use him to get some answers." I listen to Smith on the other end of the line for a minute or two, then add, "I've got another lead I'm going to check out... No, I don't know where it might lead; it's just a hunch. I'll call you when I'm on my way back to SCU."