Chances are you came here for a reason, and your looking for this sorta
stuff. If for some reason you dont already know, the following story
includes description of sexual acts between guys. If that shit turns you
off, use your back button or close your browser. If not, your in the
right place.

If you want to check out any of my other stuff, check for my name under
the "Prolific Authors" section of the Nifty Archive, or visit my homesite
at http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~raekw0n/writing/. Any feedback, comments,
suggestion can be sent onto me at raekw0n@ihug.co.nz

Oh yeah. The guys in this story might not be using rubbers, but they aint
real. You are. Practice safe sex.

Keep it real.

Anfernee Williamson.

Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without
express permission of the author. (c) April 20, 2001, Anfernee Williamson

---------

ALONE IN THE DARK


D'Marco couldnt think of anywhere else he'd want to be less.

Stuck in some shit hole tenement on a Saturday night. When he could be
out fucking girls. Doing what everyone else would be doing on a Saturday
night. Fuck that. What a guy like him was born to do on a Saturday night.

And to be stuck here. Watching the streets. With HIM.

D'Marco stared across the small, dark tenement room at him again. He sat
there by the window. Almost as much a part of the shadows as the rest of
the night. In the same place he had taken up about three hours ago, when
they had first come up here from the street.

D'Marco didnt like being ordered about. He didnt like that he was here
tonight of all nights of the week. He didnt like people he didnt know.
And certainly didnt like being ordered to work with them. D'Marco didnt
know this guy. And being stuck here alone with him, he was very quickly
beginning to not like him either.

From what he had heard, he was one of the best killers the Purebreeds
had. Efficient. Deadly. An urban predator that no one would mess with.
D'Marco had heard all the rumors. When he saw him, he'd wondered what all
the fuss had been about. And here he was, sitting in the same room with
probably one of the worst criminals in Bradford?

Jackal.

D'Marco wasn't impressed. He seemed like every other homeboy he'd faced
on the street. Every other homeboy that he'd beaten down in the line of
duty. The youth could see that, sitting there silent in the dark, Jackal
seemed more of the shadows than a guy should be. He moved with a deadly,
almost predatory smoothness. Not wasting space or time. And waiting in
silence when necessary. Unmoving and unseen.

But face to face in a fight? D'Marco stared the homeboy over. He didnt
look all that strong. He could take him. Face to face is how any war
should be won. Face to face with this Jackal, D'Marco was sure he could
bend him. Shove him down on his dick.

D'Marco lay back on the mattered double bed. The stink of it not getting
to him in the least as he stared over at the homeboy. Who stared out onto
the street. He had a good body, the youth admitted. Dark, smooth. Lean
almost. But with an athleticism that was more than obvious in his bare
biceps and mean shoulders. A black wifebeater hugged his upper body
tightly. Embracing a tight chest and stomach. Impeccably clean clothing,
wifebeater matched by baggy black jeans shorts, exposing equally muscular
calves. Black basketball sneakers. A black cap, just as clean, almost
looking straight off the shelves, worn backwards.

Only two things broke the continuos black of the shadow that was that
homeboy. A plain silver chain, thick, almost opulent. Tight about his
neck. The brief slash of blood red of his gang colors tied tight about
his head, under his cap.

D'Marcos eyes moved again over that face. Emotionless. Albeit handsome. A
face that looked as if it had never seen a smile. The youth let out a
slight grin. Tight ass. Muthafucka probably never laughed in his life.
Maybe that shit they always said about killers was true. They blocked out
the streets. Everything about the ghetto. numbed to the reality that
surrounded them. Lean, almost tight features, dark and hinting at
nothing. D'Marco still wanted to know what was up with those black
shades. Only an idiot wore that shit at night.

The youth grunted as he pulled himself up off the bed. He was sick of
this all. Conversation had proved useless in the first thirty minutes.
The homeboy hadn't answered anything. Took his instructions from their
overlords. Come out here, fuck knows where HERE was. D'Marco respected
that even less. The tough act didnt cut it with him. Opting for the
silence of the ghetto at the late of night was getting more and more
unbearable.

A tenement, in the middle of the ghettos. Somewhere. It was well into the
evening. The tiny tenement room stunk, looked as if it hadn't been used
in years. D'Marco had noticed the blood red marks on the door, knew why
this room was untouched. But the silence of it got to him. Only the sound
of the street occasionally, from the open window. The quiet hiss of rain.
The room was dark, but only because there was no working lights. Else
D'Macro would have solved that problem. If not for any other reason than
to piss off the dark homeboy.

The youth walked the short length of the main room of the tenement. Into
the kitchen and through into the toilet. He'd already looked over the
entire apartment a few times. Two rooms almost. A main room, that housed
a bed that looked as if it had seen plenty of use. It took up almost all
the room, was the only thing remaining in the room, other than a table
and few chairs, one of which Jackal had taken and put next to the window.
The window had been open when they had come. No one lived here. D'Marco
could tell that.

The kitchen was almost an afterthought. Dirty. The drip of the main
faucet had near driven D'Marco insane in the hours of silence. Metering
time too well in that deadened eternity. Empty cupboards. A stove that
looked as if it didnt work, caked with grease. The toilet and shower
directly off the kitchen, in a crowning achievement of poor construction.
The toilet didnt flush. Something D'Marco discovered the first time. The
stink didnt bother him as he unzipped his shorts. Hauled free his cock to
piss.

Planting a hand against the back wall, D'Marco leant forward. Groaning
loudly as his piss splashed down into the dirt streaked bowl. A ghetto
white, far from any pure white. His golden stream only adding to the
backlog. His legs wide spread as he released his bowls a second time that
night. He stance spoke volumes of his attitude. Relaxed, open as he
pissed. Uncaring that his actions only worsened the situation that was.
His hand wrapped about his ample cock as his piss splashed momentarily
against the seat in his inattention.

D'Macro groaned quietly in contentedness, enjoying the act. Taking from
it some small pleasure. His body hunched somewhat over the broken and
shit streaked bowl below him. He was bigger than Jackal, something that
only fueled his sure confidence, reinforced by his stance. A tight,
muscled strength, weight poised in balled shoulders, a thick neck. The
homeboy dressed similar to his counterpart, an opposite in color. His
light skinned tones, hugged by a white wifebeater. Tan cargo shorts
exposing thicker calves.

D'Marco looked everything a hardened Purebreed might. One of the
countless many. A thick built youth that made up the endless soldiers on
the battlefield of Bradfords ghettos. Pissing uncaring on everything that
made up the broken world they inhabited. Defiant and uncaring of
authority and law. Making law where there was little hope of enforcing
better.

The youth frowned a little as he shook himself dry. His face somewhat
heavy. As fixed in an emotion of continued anger and annoyance as Jackal
was in a lack of it. Strong where Jackals face was lean. Heavy and
confident. Light, browned features crowned by black hair. Short about the
sides and back, curled thick on top. D'Marco shoved his cock back into
his shorts, worked his fly up. Cussing at the fact his hand had become
caked in the dust of the wall. Cobwebs clinging lightly to the gang red
about his left wrist. Just his fucking luck.

"So when the fuck we gonna be up out of here?" D'Marco asked as he left
the bathroom. He knew Jackal could hear him, even if he didnt care to
reply. The youth looked about for something to wipe his hand, opting
instead to rub both hands in an attempt to clean himself. Fuck this
place.

D'Marco walked back into the main room of the apartment. Seeing little
had changed. He hadn't expected it to anyway. His heavy boots hit thumps
against the wood floor as he made his way back over to the bed. It
screeched in protest and he dumped his weight back down on it. Resumed
the same pose and posture. Stared back over at the dark killer on the
other side of the room.

"I didnt expect you to answer that one anyway," D'Marco growled. He blew
a heavy breath of air. Noticed as the dark shadow glanced back over at
him.

"So let me get this straight, homeboy," he asked, staring back. It was
the biggest move Jackal had made so far this night. "You don't talk? Or
you cant talk? Cause you know this macho shit is fucking pissing me off."

D'Marco hadn't expected an answer anyway. Just like he hadn't expected
one for the last few hours. He was becoming more just frustrated at the
situation. Alone here on a Saturday night with someone he didnt know.
Couldnt even really get to know. All he knew about this guy was what he'd
heard from other people. What he'd heard, he didnt find himself believing
or impressed by.

"Fuck it then," D'Marco grunted. Jackal stared back out the window. He
could see the light spats of rain were hitting the youth occasionally.
"At least close that fucking window, Im getting cold."

D'Marco raised an eyebrow as Jackal stood up. He seemed like a shadow in
motion. Smooth and fluid. It was times like that. The movement after the
stillness, that seemed to catch D'Marco. Making him wonder if perhaps the
rumors were true. Made him wonder if perhaps he should be feeling in awe
of this supposive legend. If the rumors were true, he could even think of
himself in danger just being here. Jackal raised a hand to pull the
cracked and broken window down a little. Closing it by half. He settled
back down in his chair. Stared back over at D'Marco with those shaded
eyes.

Some strange compromise. In the silence of the night so far, it almost
seemed like contact.

D'Marco grunted and leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It
was a sickly brown, polluted in color by the ghetto that had aged and
battled against every other structure here. A strange disease of the city
that corrupted building and human alike. D'Marco could make out the empty
light socket in the darkness. He drove himself to conversation, if for no
other reason than to dull the pain of silence.

"You know I ain't really heard shit about you," D'Marco commented
gruffly. "Nothing that I cant hear from any other homeboy whose scared of
that dark, intimidating shit. You know it don't work on me right?"

D'Marco turned his head slightly, laid back on the wooden headboard of
the bed. Jackal was staring out the window. His muscular arms crossed.

"Fuck I hear those rumors all the time, homeboy," he continued. Happy
talking to himself. Happy to break the monotony. "Them muthafuckas you
hear about but never see. They say you fuckers hide in the shadows all
the time. Tell us these fucked up stories about how the big boys use you
to knock out people who crossed us."

The drip of the facet in the kitchen was getting to him again.

"I hear that most 'Breeds never even meet your kind," D'Marco let out a
slight grin, glanced him over again. "Well Im seeing you now, homeboy. Im
going to be straight with you. I don't think you all that. I could take
you. Aint a boy who stepped to me I aint laid on his ass."

D'Marco hadn't cared any other time in his life. He could back up his
boasting with strength. It wasn't even boasting, when it was the truth.
Statement of cold, plain fact. D'Marco joked quietly inside that maybe
he'd get some action tonight if he antagonized this Jackal.

"Must be some real shit if the big boys thing its important enough to put
you here, huh?" the youth smiled, staring back over at Jackal. "Bet it
really fucks up your Saturday night plans." D'Marco paused a moment, and
kept staring at the youth. "Or what you do on a Saturday night? This what
you do for kicks?"

D'Marco grunted, staring back up at the ceiling again. The light wind
that still carried thought the half open window was getting to him. The
youth didnt exactly want to wrap up in these blankets. They stunk of sex.
And worse. Sitting on them was enough. He scratched idly at his stomach a
moment.

"I tell you homeboy, this is fucked up my Saturday night," D'Marco
commented. Almost a hint of regret in his heavy voice. "Fuck, Id give
anything to be somewhere else right now. Going to say it straight,
homeboy, you aint good company."

Jackal glanced over his way a moment. D'Marco kept staring up, just
wishing that they could finish what they came to do. Maybe there was
still time to make something of the night. Last he checked it was about
11:30pm. The night would just be heating up. And here he was sitting up
in this place. Waiting and watching.

"So you don't talk, huh? You want to tell me why you wear them shades at
this time of night? You know you look like a dumb ass mahfucka wearing
them right?" commented D'Marco. He preferred blunt. No one misunderstands
your intentions that way.

Jackal stood up. Something that took D'Marco a little off guard
initially. He stood there. Silent. D'Marco could hear the drips in the
kitchen again, metering the painful eternity that the shadows there
stared back at him. Almost as if Jackal wasn't there, and he was some
strange vision or dream. D'Marco didnt like how still he always was, like
death. And when he moved, it was just as unnerving. It reminded him that
Jackal was there, when otherwise he could have just as easily been in an
empty room.

D'Marco felt his breath escaping again as he let it free. Had he held it
in the first place? Staring into the depths of the night, there beside
the window. The shadows shifted in a smooth eternity of fluid motion as
Jackal stepped away from the place he had spent the whole night this far.
The youth knew he should have heard a footfall, his mind expecting it, as
his senses reported nothing. One step closer. The fall of another drip.

D'Marco stood up, gathering himself as his muscles tightened. His
expression only firmed more as Jackal stepped towards him. D'Marcos mind,
street bred and hardened, chilling him to the realities of confrontation.
Jackals leaner, more muscular, predatory body moving silently towards
his. Like the fall of night within night as the youth came toe to toe.
D'Marco knew no fear. Not what he'd seen and grown up with. He didnt feel
it now. As deadened as the expression on Jackals face.

"So wuddup then? You going to bust me?" D'Marco said. He found his voice
quieter than he had expected.

The youth stared into the dull black of Jackals shades. His hand flinched
as Jackals hand came up to pull them off. D'Marco grunted a little,
unsure of whether he felt surprise or disgust. Or anything else. All but
white white eyes staring back at him. The almost soft, almond shape of
Jackals eyes squinting slightly as he held his gaze fixed with his.

There was almost an emotion there. With his eyes in plain view. A picture
finished in its complexity, that one last final clue given to the full
image. Stark contrast against the dark, lean features of Jackals face,
completing smooth, handsome features. D'Marco couldnt place the emotion
he saw there. But saw the smooth good looks that stood completed before
him.

The white disappeared as quickly as it had broken the shadow. Jackals
nose flaring slightly as the hint of breath escaped him. Communication,
as strange as it was, the answering of a question. D'Marco found the
silence between them speaking more volumes than it had so far that night.
He didnt find himself fearing him, not even feeling as if the gesture had
been a threat. Maybe he'd lighten up a little on whoever this guy was.

D'Marco turned and dumped himself back down on the bed. Causing a
cacophony of noise as the bed protested his presence. Adding some break
to the silence that had fallen, like the shadow of night. The inky
darkness that seemed to retreat back to the sanctuary of the window side.
D'Marco grunted a little, scratching again at his stomach. Still
restless. More bored than anything else.

"I don't suppose Im going to find out from you how that happened, huh,
homeboy?" D'Marco wasn't even sure why he asked, already knowing the
answer. Hearing it in the drip of the facet.

"What I want to know is, if you so fucking good at your job, why Im
playing backup to you?" the youth glanced over to the window. It was if
Jackal hadn't even moved. "I mean why the big boys wanted me here if you
could just do this shit so good yourself."

D'Marco groaned a little, stared up at the ceiling again. This way almost
a strange form of torture. Maybe he'd pissed someone off. He was rubbing
at his stomach, feeling the soft material of his wifebeater move against
his abs. "Fuck I could be doing so much better than being up in here.
When Im going to get my dues?"

The drip hit back to D'Marcos senses with the force of a gunshot. There.
And again, after a long silence. Even the street outside seemed to have
fallen into a deadened silence. Everyone else here had someplace else to
be. Somewhere better than rotting in this hell on earth. Especially on a
Saturday night.

"Id be out fucking some bitch about now," D'Marco said, feeling as if he
had to impress his thoughts on Jackal. He saw no reaction, naturally. He
chuckled darkly to himself. "Maybe in some club, hit on the first bitch I
see. Its all cunt you know. Aint hard to make them your slut."

D'Marco entertained the thoughts briefly, at least bringing himself some
silent pleasure in the motion of his hand. The thought of this being some
girls room, and Jackal being that girl. That would be a better scenario
on a night like this. He could bare the sounds of nature then. When the
drip would be replaced by his firm grunts and the groans of the bitch
beneath him. Little more than copulating in an act of base pleasure.

"So you get yourself laid much?" D'Marco asked. He thought to answer the
questions himself from here on in. At least the conversation would be
better. "You good enough looking to get yourself a bitch pretty easy. You
spend all your nights in some dark alley, like all them homeboys say?
Waiting for your hit?"

Jackal was looking back at him again. D'Marco found that his hand was
wandering closer to his groin. That his groin was responding to the
thoughts and feelings that were keeping his body company in the silence
there. He grinned, brash, uncaring. Knowing that Jackal could see easily
enough how he was pawing at himself. Maybe he'd give the homeboy
something to look at.

"We get done here maybe Ill take you back to the place I would have gone
tonight. Get you some bitch to loosen you up a little," D'Marco noticed
how Jackal turned back to the window. Stared out of it. There could have
been little more than shadow there. The youth didnt know what to feel at
that.

"Fuck this shit," he muttered quietly. "If Im gonna be fucking bored, at
least I can get off."

D'Marco unzipped his cargo shorts, pushing his hand in through the fly to
haul free his cock. Unashamed. His partly hard cock flopping slightly in
his grip as he pulled it totally free of his shorts. As blunt and brash a
statement as any other of D'Marcos street attitude laden actions. All
blunt truths of gang attitude coming back to the same point. The one that
slowly hardened within his hand.

The youth let out a moan of sorts as he relaxed back. At least he could
spend the time a little more pleasurably. Getting at least a little of
what he would be getting otherwise. D'Marco let himself slip into the
fantasies of his mind as he began to squeeze and work his dick up to its
full height. A thick, blunt shaft of veined flesh. Jutting from the
opening in his shorts, the hint of thick, dark hair below. His nuts
tightening up with the stimulation that he began to stroke into the
length of his arousal.

D'Marco found himself staring over at Jackal as he began to pull his fist
along the full measure of his cock. His gentle moans adding a new sound
within the boredom of the room. The pleasure that began to light within
him, warming him against the chill that had taken the night then. A
pleasure that fired and licked within the big head of his cock. The blunt
truth of his hardened youth.

Jackal didnt look half bad for a guy, D'Marco found himself admitting.
His mind working for some reason with what was there, rather than what
could be. He found himself wondering if this was what Jackal did in those
late nights waiting. Alone in the alleys waiting for his prey. Doing what
he might as well have been doing right now. Jacking off alone in the
presence of shadows.

Did Jackals muscular body ever writhe over some bitch, like his would
have otherwise been doing tonight? Shadows dipping and pleasuring the
depths of female sex. He was strong enough to take what he wanted.
Perverse fantasies wandered within D'Marcos mind. Asking questions that
would never be answered, ignoring to ask them verbally. Getting as much a
reply within his mind. Did Jackal ever watch others in the darkness of
night? Did he hunt other prey? Did he take what he pleased like he so
easily could?

D'Marco let a full smile break his lips as Jackal turned to see him. Cock
in fist. Working slowly in the strokes of masturbation. Uncaring of what
was seen. Boasting in some blunt and fatalistic way how much a man he
really was. Bared for the homeboy to see. He didnt give a fuck. He never
did, or would. Having Jackal see him masturbating silently in the dark
was something that didnt phase him in the least.

"You aughta deal to yours too, homeboy," D'Marco suggested, straight
forward, honest in his intentions. "Its quiet enough. Aint like shits
going to happen any time soon."

D'Marco thrilled almost in the way that Jackal stayed staring. 'Yeah,
that's right,' he thought. 'See how big a real man is.' He played to
Jackals stares, working himself thick and slow. Moaning openly at the
steady stream of pleasure that washed over him at the motions of sexing
himself. As he lay atop that dirty bed, fucking himself quietly in the
dark. His hips thrusting slightly, but firmly up against the tightness of
his fist.

The youth grunted a little, wondering if perhaps he was taking some
perverse thrill from seeing Jackal watching him jack off. Ending all too
quick as the shadows turned their attentions elsewhere. D'Marco continued
staring back over at the night beside the window. Feeling as if his
sexual partner that wasn't had begun wanting it less. Insult like falling
asleep directly after having held them in such sexual rapture for so
long.

D'Marcos eyes still played where Jackals didnt. Fueling his horny bliss
with a visual fuel. Uncaring of sex. In the silence of night. Where night
could not talk, and where others would not see. The perfect crime of
pleasure, as D'Marco began slowly undressing the homeboy with his eyes.
Wondering more in innocent thoughts what he looked like, what he packed,
rather than took it all as source of fantasy.

'Just sit the fuck there then,' D'Marco thought crudely. 'Let me get off
for a bit. Nut off looking at you. You fucked up my night enough tonight
so you owe me.'

D'Marco gently slipped his other hand down into the opening in his
shorts, feeling the warmth of his hand nestle about his balls. Felt the
release that it gave, the soft wave of pleasure that followed with the
fondling. He kept his eyes along Jackals lean, muscular curves. His eyes
taking in the dark. Taking in the deepest shadows beside the window
there.

D'Marco was unphased by the obvious implications of his eyes. Of the
almost sensual strokes he gave in the heights of horniness. He was more
than capable to deal with anyone who thought less. Knew himself well
enough. Was secure enough in who he was. Secure enough to do what he
needed to do if he drew a bad word for it. He might as well have been
alone here in the room, by himself. As far as he was concerned, he might
as well have been staring at the wall.

Those thick, dark biceps. Bulging in their strength, yet still lean. A
lean, long form of shadow, like some strange, twisted shadow cast on a
wall. Lit by some dim ghetto light. The smooth contrast of his smooth,
dark skin against the black of his tank top. The way it curved gently
over equally smooth muscles. D'Marco found himself wondering at what he'd
look like with his shirt off. If he talked, if he did something more than
just stare out a window, he'd probably be deadly with girls. Instead of
the blunt reality of being a killer of men.

D'Marco eased his fist up over his cock again, rubbing idly at the head.
Wondering, with a smile, if this was making Jackal uncomfortable. If so,
he didnt show it. But maybe that was it. Maybe he was hiding it, like he
did everything else about him. Maybe this was his weakness. Maybe D'Marco
could shove it a little deeper, like shoving his cock deep up some
bitches ass. Work what little advantage he had, toying with the dark
homeboy. Maybe he could fuck with his mind. Did Jackal ever fuck with the
minds of those he killed?

"Hey homeboy," D'Marco eased up a little on his cock. "Why don't you take
yours out? Let us see what you got?"

The facet answered him in the silence. Jackal still stared out on the
street. The light spatter of rain caught slightly in the dim light,
drawing a little attention to what form there was to the night there.
D'Marco was satisfied in his slow, erotic pleasures. Unashamed of the
thoughts and actions that possessed him then.

"You ever get your cock out much?" he continued. Not expecting answers.
Still making the conversation anyway. "Maybe in them dark alleys? You got
a big one in there homeboy?"

D'Marco watched the silent shadows, still gently working himself. He
lowered his eyes a little. Lost in the restless boredom. The quiet of the
night. Hoping at least in some small sign of life within his otherwise
lifeless partner. Was it true hitmen weren't human? Perhaps every life
that Jackal had taken had taken that bit more from himself. Hardened him
even worse than the death D'Marco had grown up with.

The youth found himself wanting to have at least some sign that he was
sitting there with another homeboy even part like him. They had grown up
in the same city. Shared at least in part some experiences. If it were
any other homeboy, D'Marco would still have pressed him like he was now.
Some might have reasoned that pushing a hitman of all people to take out
his cock would have been the worst of scenarios.

"There aint fucking anything out there, homeboy," D'Marco commented
darkly, his fist idle about his cock. "Why don't you fucking ease up on
yourself a moment and give it a rest?"

Jackal turned to look at him. The shadows barely moving as he turned his
head to stare at D'Marco. He saw that glance move ever so slightly
downward. Hinting at where it probably lay, down with his stiff dick. The
youth watched him turn to stare back out the window.

"Fuck you too."

D'Marco grunted, letting his head fall back against the headboard again.
He stared up at the stained ceiling. Only feeling the silence of the
ghetto crushing about him again. His small play with his penis only
worsening his want to be elsewhere. To be having it attended to properly.
Like he would be at this time on any other Saturday night. Why did his
overlords hate him so much they'd send him up here with a guy like this.
Couldnt he take care of this shit himself?

The restlessness D'Marco felt was like an itch. An itch that only
worsened, and amplified with that which he felt within his dick. One that
he yearned with a powerful urge to scratch. Maybe there was a way to get
past both. Maybe he was going about this whole night the wrong way.

D'Marco steeled himself, dropping his cock, and pushing himself up off
the bed. He noticed Jackal glance over at him. He stood there for a
moment, gauging the homeboys reactions. Expecting as much as he saw. The
dark shadow staying still where he was beside the window. D'Marco stared
back. Staunch gangsta, ignoring the fact of his dick, hanging out of his
shorts. Not giving a fuck.

"You ever been with a guy, homeboy?" D'Marco ventured. He took a step
over towards the shadowed killer. The sound of his boot answered him as
it hit against the wood floor.

"You ever wanted to try being with a guy? Fuck whos going to tell, right?
" D'Marco felt frustration at questions that needed some sort of answers.
Where he wasn't going to get any. He handled his cock a little, as if
trying to emphasis the point a little more. There was a strange, dizzying
thrill in hitting on a hitman.

"We might as well make the best of this shit right? I mean nothings going
to go down tonight," the youth continued. He was standing at the opposite
side of the window. Staring down at the shadows where they sat. "You been
staring out that window for like three fucking hours. Aint nothing going
to happen, homeboy."

D'Marco let his eyes fall down over Jackals smooth body. He saw no
reaction at all in the depth of night. He grew tired of hearing the same
thunderous pound of drip on steel from the kitchen next door. Sick of it
being the only answer to his questions. If Jackal wasn't going to say
anything, then he might as well have his mouth full of his cock. He might
as well make something of being alone up here with a killer who said
nothing. wouldn't say anything. Be able to say anything. Even if he
forced him down on his knees.

"You want to try a taste of this?" D'Marco pushed. He took a step
forward, in front of the window. Jackal stood up in a fluid motion, again
toe to toe with him. The youth didnt feel the threat that he thought
might come. Instead felt the cool brush of air against his skin and
manhood as Jackal shoved the window up open with a single hand.

"Fuck the window, homeboy," he grunted. "If you so fucking desperate to
keep a look out, Ill do it. Just go down on my fucking cock for me."

D'Marco stared straight at black shades. Imagining those albino eyes
staring back at him from behind. He'd bent stronger homeboys before.
D'Marco had kicked homeboys twice his size. And yeah, even shoved a few
of them down on his cock to further the humiliation. He stared straight
into the eyes of a legendary death, unphased. Not seeing any of what he
had heard. He put his hand on Jackals thick bicep, making his intentions
clear.

"I don't care how many homeboys you killed," D'Marco whispered. His eyes
still inches from Jackals. "All I know is Im bored as fuck and feel like
nutting."

D'Marco stared at the black shades that stared back at him. Almost
thinking for a moment that he saw the sturing of those white eyes. His
hand still tight about Jackals bicep, the dark shadow unmoving. Feeling
like smooth, warm rock beneath his fingers. He rubbed his hand upwards
somewhat, onto the tight ball of his shoulder. Preparing to take to
violence if he couldnt solve with strong words and eyes.

"So help a brother out," he stated bluntly, still staring at those
shades. "Ill watch the fucking window for you."

D'Marco pushed a little on Jackals naked shoulder, feeling a little give
as the shadows about him began to fall slowly. He felt a strange thrill,
a confusion almost. Half of him had expected to have felt the homeboy
fight against his stronger body. To have shoved and fought every inch
down to his groin. Some form of disgusted protest to his show of
dominance, even in the absence of voice. Anything other than the fall of
the shadows about his body, as Jackal moved slowly to his knees before
him. Took him into his mouth with a wet slurp.

"Oh fuck yeah homeboy," D'Marco whispered. Thrilling in the sudden shift
of events. In the dark night that fell about his waist and took his newly
stiffening manhood. He stared down, euphoric at the incredible ease in
which he had reduced a hard killer to his knees. Preparing to take his
own hit the full distance against Jackal. Then unload his strongest
shots, straight to Jackals head.

D'Marco took full advantage of the situation, finally, for the first time
that night happy of where he was. If only he had turned this situation
about in his favour earlier. Forced the point of getting head earlier on
in the time that had passed. D'Marco already making up for the lost time
as he pulled Jackals black cap off, then his blood red bandanna. Exposing
his very short haired head. Tossing the killers clothes aside as his
hands pulled them off. D'Marco thrust eagerly against Jackals mouth,
feeling the hunger in which it was met with.

'Boys greedy for some cock then,' D'Marco thought. 'Probably been starved
in them alleys he lives in. Yeah homeboy, let me feed you good.'

D'Marco pushed his hand, treating Jackal irreverent. Like a bitch, his
hand stroking against the back of his neck, keeping him in place as he
feed his thick cock deeper. Taking pleasures of his mouth that he would
never be able to speak of. And if he reacted poorly to the treatment,
well he had the upper hand now anyway.

"Take your fucking tank off homeboy," D'Marco ordered bluntly. He pulled
off Jackals mouth, feeling the coolness of night against his wet dick as
he leant up against the wall beside the window. He saw the reaction that
time, responding as quick. "Forget the fucking window. If it was
happening, we'd fucking hear it. Take off your fucking tank and get back
on my cock."

D'Marco leant back against the wall, feeling its blunt hardness against
his muscles. Watched as the shadows shifted before him, pulling up to
expose a body of incredible muscularity. A tight chest and an eight pack
of highly defined abs. Smooth, predatory strength, complete in its image.
Helped defined from shadow by the context of the silver necklace. D'Marco
felt his cock surge at the sight of his body. Smoother, stronger than
he'd seen any other mans. A fluid smoothness that made him weep inside.
Shadow given form in man.

"My dick," he said, encouraging Jackal forward again. He gasped as the
killer took him into his mouth again. "Open up my shorts properly."

D'Marco relaxed more fully as Jackal began to work at his shorts. Undoing
his belt as the shadows shifted and pulsed before him. The youths world
inhabited by a new warmth and pleasure in the depth of night and shadow.
Feeling the eventual give as his shorts loosened. Slipped. Helped by
hands that drew slight shivers as they played across his skin. Only
serving to stiffen him more. As Jackal stopped his mouth play long enough
to get D'Marcos thick cock free of his boxers. Joining D'Marcos boxers to
the puddle of clothing about his ankles.

D'Marco thrilled at the feelings, enjoying the wetness about his length.
Forcing Jackals pace slower and slower. His mind still working over the
fact of the reality before him. It seemed implausible. Not that he'd even
considered any other ending to his blunt offers. Whether mutual or
otherwise. He stared down, moaning lightly, as the deep shadows about his
waist and groin moved slowly. Fluidly. That head bobbing quietly on his
most male part. Surrendering too easily to his dominance.

The youths strong hands worked onto Jackals shoulders and neck. Feeling
the smooth skin there. The obvious strength in those lean curves. Keeping
the pace as slow as he could. Perhaps the rest of the night wouldn't be a
total waste. With his own hitman in the dark. Following his every sexual
want. D'Marco found macho fantasies compounding on the pleasures he took.
Expounded on the sight of his blood red about his left wrist. Together
against the world, alone in the dark. Jackal and him could do whatever
they wanted. He found himself celebrating the power that had pushed such
a supposedly powerful killer to his knees before him. The way that he had
enforced his will on him.

Never seen. Alone in the shadows. Waiting for its prey. Jackal was little
more than the beast he was named after. A pawn in some bigger game.
Unwitting and unthinking. Doing what his betters commanded of him for the
greater good. D'Marco smiled, moaning a little louder as Jackals mouth
worked about his head again. Right now, this was some greater good.
Jackal was his willing bitch, doing every little thing he commanded of
him.

A fucked up life to lead. But then there were people who dominated. And
those who sucked cock.

"Work a little on my balls, homeboy," D'Marco said quietly. He barely
waited, reinforcing words with his hands. Moving the object of his
pleasure downward. His big cock rubbed against Jackals forehead. Felt the
smooth plastic of his shades.

"And take those off," he said after a moments thought. D'Marco dragged
the shades off Jackal, dropping them aside with the rest of his clothes.
"You wont be needing em for a while."

D'Marco moaned as the wet warmth flowed through his tight nuts. Heard the
new sounds of nature within the room. The moans that escaped his lips.
The gentle, almost soft sucking as Jackal worked and moved over his
sensitive center. He felt Jackals tongue again, the silent shadow
speaking more than erotic words of pleasure over his organ. His tongue
put to a use more than accepted by D'Marcos blunt ways.

The youth breathed out heavily. Contented. Climax at least a little
further from being attained while Jackal serviced his full testicles.
Feeling the smooth skin of his face against his inner legs, brushing
against his ample, thick pubes. D'Marcos hands playing over the back of
Jackals head. Keeping him down. Enforcing his will still fully. Uncaring
of the consequences of his actions. Knowing only too well what the
consequences of Jackals actions would attain. What they supplied in
blissful totality in the silence of night.

Jackals mouth worked up his thick shaft again. Tongue working about the
crown of his uncut head. Suckling momentarily at the overhang of his
foreskin. The darkness there before him, engulfing him again. Unguided
and uninstructed by the power that was, above him, but still far more
than accepted. D'Marco stared down, taking in the dark curves of the half
naked hitman before him. Breathing heavily as his cock slipped back into
the sucking wetness of Jackals mouth. He pushed down on the back of his
neck, encouraging more and more of his cock in. Barely stopping as he
heard the gagging that followed.

"Take it in good and deep," D'Marco sighed heavily. He didnt let up, his
hips pushing upwards, where his hands all but forced down. "You fucking
good at this, homeboy."

D'Marco kept Jackals tensing shoulders still, making him more used to the
bulk in his mouth and throat. Holding him steady. Refusing to budge, even
though he felt the attempts to pull back. The youth forcing himself
further upon the deep shadows there. Forcing him to get used to the
situation that was. As he thrilled on the base pleasures, and the highs
of the dangers of forcing a killer on his cock.

The youth thrust a little, pushing Jackals nose deeper into the brush of
his pubic hair. Keeping his grip firm as he began to let his hips work
their natural rhythm and urge. Thrusting in slow motions, as Jackals
hands moved again up his strong thighs. Steadying himself as D'Marco
steadied him. The careful balance that was, centered about the thick
piece that worked again and again within the circle of Jackals mouth.

"Get up," D'Marco said, almost hoarsely. He felt the more powerful urges
within him, the inevitable ends to the movements within his hips. He
repeated himself, more strongly. "Get up, homeboy."

Jackal rose before him. Soundlessly. Like a shadow cast over a quiet
scene of peace and pleasure. The two white orbs of his albino eyes
trapping the breath within D'Marcos chest. As the two homeboys stared
into each others eyes. The youth felt suddenly, starkly alone in the
broken tenement room. Like prey caught unawares by a deadly predator.
Feeling its last breath, caught within its throat. A brief realization
before the end.

Jackal blinked.

D'Marco felt the wave of emotion in those eyes. A crushing, almost
horrible sense of what was contained within the breadth of one human. As
if he saw what Jackal had seen in all his years. A mix of fear. Hatred.
Self loathing and pity. Contained within a powerful firmness of poise and
expression. Emotion pulled in rather than targetted on the person of his
attentions. D'Marco hesitated. For just a moment as the shadows stood
about him. All dark, lean muscle. He heard the drip of the facet pull him
back into reality, as he rose his eyes again to meet Jackals.

The killers gaze fell somewhat. D'Marco felt it on his cock, in the way
that it throbbed and pounded with the power of his heartbeat. The sudden
anxiety pulsing through his body, concentrating and steadying him in a
pinpoint of a moment. His eyes took in Jackals lean face, those
disturbing eyes. Alone in the shadows, where no one would see. And the
shadows would never speak of the breadth held in those eyes.

D'Marco found himself spurred by the need in his cock. Putting a hand on
Jackals tight shoulder. His other hand falling to the belt of his shorts.
Working it loose as he stared at the homeboys seemingly perfect abs. The
youth felt the strong surge of jealousy at the strength there. The smooth
grace and power that was Jackals dark body. The shadowy curves stayed
unmoving as D'Marco loosened Jackals shorts. Let them fall downwards,
uncontested. The power of the emotions he felt washed away by the
saturating power that was the storm of his hormones.

"Im sort of glad the two of us had to do this night together," D'Marco
remarked. He put his hand about the back of Jackals neck. Stepped out of
his own shorts as he pushed the killer back against where he had leant.
Trading places. His eyes gliding down the deep shadows of his muscular
back and ass. "This worked out pretty nice for both of us really. You
pretty cool, homeboy."

D'Marco felt the powerful urges within him. The drive that forced him to
prove his power and dominance at every turn of his life. The strength
that had him stare and intimidate. That still powerful scowl on his face
lightening as he stared over lustfully the prizes of his will. He pressed
himself up against the smooth contours of Jackals body. Fitting his own
with the killers. Feeling his still hard cock nestled against the hard
globes of Jackals ass.

"Actually, Im pretty glad its you," D'Marco continued. Breaking the
silence that was. His hands moved about Jackals leaner body as he let a
breath escape his lips. "Homeboy, Im going to say it pretty straight, I
think you pretty damn good looking for a guy."

D'Marco felt the tenseness as he let his urges consume him. Guide his
hips in a powerful, yet poorly guided thrust upwards. Eager in all ways,
yet hindered by the same restrictions of flesh that made D'Marco a poor
fit. The youth groaning, feeling the writhing tightness beneath his hands
as the head of his penis massaged and pushed up within the tight crack of
Jackals ass. The tight release of breaths becoming the words of the
shadows before him as D'Marco wriggled and pushed in his needy want for
satisfaction.

"We make a good pair," he breathed heavily against Jackals neck and
shoulders. "Pity we aint met before. We could really get something good
going."

D'Marco felt the clenching before him as he shoved. Eager for pleasures
too tight to be admitted. Grunting a little in frustration as he felt
resistance all too natural. The clear wetness of Jackals previous
attempts to get him off, joined with the hot heat of the shadows asscrack
and D'Marcos precums mating to smear in a soft, natural lubricant of
lovemaking. A passage made easier slowly by the incessant pushing and
twisting of D'Marcos broad head against Jackals asshole.

The youth locked silently with Jackal in the moments there. Leaning up
hard against the killers lean body. Feeling the presence about him, where
previously he had felt so little from the guy. He felt everything he
always felt in this same position. No matter who it was, male or female.
Willing or not. The soft breaths that escaped Jackals lips telling him
all to well the anxieties that tightened him to D'Marcos blunt entrance.
The signs of life that D'Marco had begun seeing all to bluntly within the
depths of darkness that he stared into.

How could someone stand to stare into the abyss that was Jackal all that
long? D'Marco wondered silently to himself as he continued his greedy
possession. Pushing at that hugging muscle that had begun to ease a
little. Each slight gain taken in tight momentum by the merest sign of
weakness and giving within Jackals asshole. How alone was it in those
dark shadows that Jackal was. How often did he get these pleasures that
D'Marco took so easily?

The youth felt little resistance other than the natural tightness of
human frailties to his advance. He took Jackal into the embrace of his
arms. Mating silently with the darkness of the night. Alone with Jackal.
Alone with himself as he stood with him. Against him. His penis still
pushing ever upwards. Carried by weight and poise. An inevitable passage
taken part by part with each slight relaxation of Jackals gripping ass.

Darkness with dark. 

D'Marco moaned quietly. Feeling the throbbing within Jackals chest.
Feeling the power of his body, the life that surged within him. His hand
wandering downward until he found the searing heat of his cock. Erect and
upright in a long stroke. D'Marco stood mated in unwitting pair to the
long, shadowed darkness that was Jackals lean being. More deeply than any
with the killer. In an act far in difference to those he was most
accustomed with. And D'Marco finding the same of himself.

Each breath seemed to meter another gain. Each heartbeat a mere distance
more into the depths of Jackals tightness. D'Marco moaned as he writhed
upwards, pushing more than thrusting. Working with a firmness that
carried him further within the depths of that night personified. The
youth groaned as he felt the give. The slight push back as he bred deeper
with the dark homeboy.

"Take it all in," D'Marco whispered darkly. "Make me feel good, homeboy."

D'Marco felt the heat of Jackals body against him, despite the fact he
was still wearing his wifebeater. He laid his chin on Jackals shoulder as
he worked deeper within that almost painful tightness. His right hand
exploring the length of Jackals natural weapon. Feeling the tight shivers
that it caused within the lean muscle against his.

Taken by the warmth and pleasure within his hardened cock, D'Marco
chanced a firm push suddenly. Both males grunting as they rutted deeper
into breeding. D'Marco didnt wait until the tightness subsided to stab
again, like blade into hated Los Locos. Taking his hardness the last few
inches needed to settle fully within Jackals ass. D'Marco smiled quietly,
exerting his dominance again and again as he made Jackal more his with
each passing moment. Thrilling still at the control he had over the
killer. His weakness the simple need for intimacy. An intimacy that
D'Marco was more than willing to give as often and as hard as he could.

D'Marco paused for breath. Feeling Jackal eventually within his embrace
again. The tight signs of his body. The light hiss of the rain outside
coming to his ears. Alone for a moment in the greedy possession of the
dark shadows body. The night seemed almost darker, the youth wondering
for some reason at the time. It was probably more than later. The sounds
of the street were subdued.

The fire within his hard cock still burnt. As his lust built within the
hard curves of his muscles.

Silently, content with the lack of words for the first time that night,
D'Marco began to fuck. At first in a tight, almost dry painfulled stroke
that both men felt. The natural moisture of their male love no more ample
to the task as Jackals tightness was of taking his size. The almost
painful passage of his cock within Jackals ring, slowly easing the
movement as he loosened to the thickness there. The pleasure of the act
building up within D'Marcos hard chest. Dizzying him in its thrill and
danger.

Who would have guessed he'd be fucking a deadly killer on a night like
this? Saturday nights of all nights. When he would have more likely been
up in some sluts ass rather than that of a street hardened hitmans. The
power of his dominance over Jackal only continued to intoxicate him more
as the stimulation of his cock within Jackals ass made him more drunk.
The heady pleasures he took from the leaner gangsta more than his for the
taking.

D'Marco begun grunting as he stroked. Feeling the writhing within his
arms as Jackal took every inch again and again within the clenching grip
of his ass. D'Marco moaned loudly against his ear, enjoying the
sensations of the tight fuck. The equally tight curves of Jackals dark
body. As he began to fist and pump the shadows long cock. Smiling
silently as Jackal drew tight breaths of air, almost silent to the sounds
he was making in return. Wondering at the breadth of pleasure Jackal felt
with the passage of his thick shaft within him.

Thrust and push deepened as D'Marco took fuller pleasure of Jackals ass.
Feeling the homeboy tight on him. Rutting more fully with him, alone in
the dark. As his cock began to open him up more fully to the realities of
his size and strength. D'Marco heady with the ultimate truths of his
dominance in the act of male love. The possession and power he held and
took with each thrust. Each powerful drive taking him closer to the high
that he sought deep within his aching testicles.

Powerful release at last.

D'Marco felt the pulse along the hard length within his fist. The
shuddering tightness that followed through the slopes of Jackals dark
body. Clenching like death grip about his thrusting cock, as the killer
rained further white to the depth of blackness before him. D'Marco began
pushing more cruelly, thrusting as deep as his hips could carry. Up
against Jackals still releasing body as the black fell back against him.
Dependant on his strength to hold his body steady for the task of mating
more fully. Jackals head falling back in a soundless moan as he stared
upwards. Penetrated deeper and harder from behind.

"Yeah, boy," D'Marco muttered tightly. His peak surged within his nuts.
"Take it silent and open."

D'Marco felt Jackals body all but helpless within his crushing embrace.
His arms tightening up about the shadows as he felt the unrelenting urge
to shoot build within him like a torrent. Crushing Jackal within him as
Jackal returned in kind, about his cock. As his thrusts culminated the
powerful act of horny fucking that drove D'Marco in all things. A
powerful groan escaping his lips as his seed surged and erupted within
Jackals tight and accepting ass.

"Take it all bitch," the youth half grunted. "Oh yeah, you fucking bitch.
Oh yeah ... take it all in you."

D'Marco felt his body consumed in a powerful rapture as he fired again
his deep surges of semen. Releasing thick ropes of cum within the killers
ass, claiming him in the deepest and most humiliating of street defeats.
Claiming manhood in the deepest of braggando. Taking the deepest
pleasures in a base act of copulation.

The youth grunted breathlessly, hearing the rush of his breath. Of
Jackals. Still spiked on his hard organ in his post orgasmic high.
D'Marco quivered suddenly as he tried to back off, Jackals assring still
tightening and pulsing about his sensitive staff. He pull firmly,
suddenly, feeling his length drag free in a long stroke that he felt
within every inch of Jackals lean body.

"You can be my fucking bitch any night, homeboy," D'Marco proclaimed,
satisfied in his taking. "Whenever you get them urges to give it up to
me. Ill slut you anytime."

D'Marco felt the shift of weight. The almost dizzying passage of air and
movement. The painful conclusion of momentum that had his head hit
solidly against the wall before him. He all but bounced back, already
down on his knees as he collapsed where Jackal had been but seconds
before him. His mind unable to work the physical realities that shocked
hard to his system in the pain he felt. Almost as if he had lost footing.
Become unstable in the blissful high of orgasm.

The youth groaned, rubbed his neck. Cussing as he pulled himself up a
little, his ass and exposed flesh pushing hard against the blunt coldness
of the apartments wood floors. D'Marco felt worse off for the
positioning. The humiliation of laying down so exposed in the most
embarrassing of positions. He could feel the wetness of Jackals cum
against his arm.

D'Marco glanced upwards, seeing the light from outside illuminating the
dark shape of Jackals body. Those white white eyes penetrated the
darkness easily, D'Marco seeing them fixed down on him. The lean,
muscular killer standing two steps back from where he had been. Fucking
Jackal just moments before. Was it even possible that he had shoved him
down like this? D'Marcos mind struggled to take in all that he was
thinking and feeling.

Pulling himself up from the floor, D'Marco stared Jackal down. The
grittiness returning to his face as the shadows stood all but naked
before him. Jackals long cock softened and lean before his face
momentarily as he rose. He saw nothing in the smooth, but handsome
features of Jackals face. The deadened white of his eyes. The briefly
flash of prey before predator hit D'Marco again. Reminded him of the
incredible storm of emotion he had see last in those albino eyes. Now to
be replaced by nothing. As cold as the shadows he seemed like.

"Oh, you don't like being called a bitch?" D'Marco asked, all but happy
to get his own back. If this was to turn into a confrontation. It was
already obvious who had the power here. His cock was still smeared with
the blood of his ass. "Is that it, homeboy? Well that's what you were,
stuck up on this boys cock."

D'Marco wondered if there was a slight hint of emotion in those lean
features. Perhaps a tightening in those dark slopes. Some hint of anger.
Anything. The youth didnt wait longer, pressing his advantage as he threw
himself at Jackal in an attempt to tackle the fucker to the ground. Shove
his cock back up in his ass if that's what it took.

D'Marco felt a hand on his back, almost even before he moved. Felt the
rush of wind, the momentum of movement. Those white eyes staring at him,
like the culmination of all the death they had seen. The opposite of all
the life they had taken. The youth couldnt control his weight, his lunge
towards Jackal turning into a fall as the passage of his body carried him
into something that was no longer there.

D'Marco hit the ground harder this time. Cussing hard. He heard the drip
of the facet.

A metallic click.

Jackal stood above him, pistol in hand. D'Marco found his words trapped
sore in his throat as he stared up along the black barrel of the gun. At
those white eyes giving contrast to the darkness of Jackals body. Staring
down at him. No hint of anything. D'Marco realized with a pain that he
saw nothing in those eyes. realized with a greater pain how easily he had
been manipulated into this position. He was worse than on his knees
before Jackal. All but forced to suck on the hard metal piece of the
killers gun.

"What the fuck you doing," D'Marco croaked. That click should have been
the end of his life. He stared up at the shadowed silhouette above him.
The light of the window behind Jackal cast a deadly shadow down over him.
He lay like some beaten bitch under the killer. Those eyes far worse than
some husband beating down on the wife that he had suddenly become.

Those eyes closed momentarily. D'Marco watched as he turned his head,
glancing back towards the window. The youth used his chance, throwing
himself upwards towards the gun. A fearless stupidity born of the streets
as he batted the hard metal aside. Finding Jackal beside, rather than
before him as he let his weight carry him forward. He felt an almost
weightless lift as he stumbled the staggered steps towards the window.

Through it.

D'Marco felt the cold shock of the wind and coolness of night hit him.
The spatter of rain on his skin. The hard pain of his chest suddenly
hitting the sill of the window. He felt firm tightness of Jackals hand
about his neck, holding his head forward. Moving it upwards so he was
forced to stare ahead. The cold presence of his gun pressed against his
asshole.

D'Marco saw the stillness of street life before him. Passing before his
eyes in a silent, almost treacle like pace. The two figures that stood
before him on the stage. One in red. A flashy, brutal display of
Purebreed symbolic power. A lean youth in flawless street clothing, black
shorts, red basketball jersey. Red bandanna. Walking out of the building
opposite, along the silent streets unguarded.

The other in black. In the shadows of the alley. Watching silently. The
slash of blue tied up about his head.

One Purebreed. One Ngati Tumatauenga.

One prey. One predator.

D'Marco made all the connections quickly. His supposive danger put behind
him for a moment as the reality of what was clashed quickly with the
spill of sensations. He felt himself fall backwards, pulled lightly by
the neck. Momentum carried by weight. Felt his bare ass connect bluntly
with the hard wood of the apartment floor again. Jackal was already by
the bed, pulling up his shorts. Hiding those albino eyes behind his
shades again. A fluid movement of lean muscles and shadow. A shifting
that came almost slow to D'Marcos eye as he watched Jackal head towards
the door.

D'Marco fumbled for his shorts, embarrassed in his disarray. The sudden
shift again the events of the night had taken as he fumbled for his
cellphone. Hoping for the first time that night that he didnt hear any
sound. The fatal sound that proved only too true in happening.

And for the first time that night, truly alone with shadows. The shadows
of his own overconfidence.