John remembers the first time he's seen the kid. He couldn't have been more than sixteen at the time, looking fucked up and bruised, wiry thin muscle covered with rumpled baggy clothes, as he looked around with wide eyes in what felt like anxiety.

John didn't care about the age of their clients, Getting in the game he knew it was these kinds of people that would keep his business afloat. There was no moral code in his line of work and if kids wanted to waste their lives away by getting hooked on his shit that was none of business.

"Daron," The kid had mumbled out his name in a nasal tone, as John handed them the few tablets and told them to mess around for a bit since it was the raven haired boy's first time.

He was brought along by Shavo, who had been a regular of his for a few years now. He doesn't miss the hungry looks he throws at the smaller boy as he grabs the tablets while he pays in full and they both fuck off to god knows where.

John had a feeling he would see them again.

*

Daron kept coming back to him after that night, after many more, even after Shavo had long since overdosed on some new shit he didn't sell because he wasn't stupid enough to join the craze in whatever new chemical was hot in town. LA was a ruthless town with glory, golden streets washed in blood and drugs and you had to be smart if you wanted to survive.

John sold shit that he knew would always be on demand, shit that could hook people up and keep them coming back to him. He liked stability and that stability meant cocaine, heroin, crack, PCP and some LSD for chosen clients only. He didn't like risking with meth, but he knew a guy he could refer to people who were feeling up to it.

The scrawny teen grew into a young man who would come in dressed in all sorts of colorful mismatched outfits that struck attention and then some more. It left little to no imagination what the guy did for a living, and no matter how fast his hands were, he was clever enough to never steal from John.

It was the drill; come in, pull out crumpled bills and coins from a different wallet each time. Every nickel and dime for something to smoke, snort or in lucky weeks inject. John almost felt bad for the guy.

Almost.

*

Daron limps into the house once again.

As years went by, nothing much has changed. His dealer sits in his eternal throne made out of what seems to be an expensive chair that has lived through the years better than Daron has. His hair is long and slicked back in a man bun, shaved on the sides, black dress shirt a bit too tight as his buff, muscular arms move around some chick with a big ass and fake tits. His thick golden necklace, a symbolism for his preceding reputation. It's so cliché Daron would laugh if he wasn't so desperate.

His dealer recognizes him upon seeing him come into view, black eyes shining through furrowed eyebrows, lips in a thin line.

Daron goes through the routine rather quickly. John has no time to lose and Daron needs his fix. The procedure is simple; stumble in, open wallet, leave crumpled bills on the coffee table, stumble out.

John's eyes are quick to focus his attention on the chick sitting on his lap while Daron is on his way out.

He's at the stairs of John's house as he shoves a needle on his arm, the urgency of the situation not giving him time to move farther away. He doesn't think of John or his conquests as the high takes him to the land of wonders, as he feels his worries diminishing, until cannot even feel the cold of the winter.

*

"Been coming to you for nearly a damn decade and you cannot even hit with a little something for just a bit less?" Daron runs a thin, bony hand through bleached hair as he looks at the guy with wide eyes. John lies back on his expensive chair, huffing out the smoke from his cigar as he plays with the colorful hair of yet another conquest that sits on the plush carpet beside him.

"You're telling me you've been comin' to me for nearly a decade and are stupid enough to not know the rules yet?" The other man says, voice booming through the music and the general fashionable emptiness of the room.

John was a man of simple rules, nothing too complicated. Don't ask for no discounts, cause no trouble in his house or around his hood, pay in full or get the fuck out. Never ask him if the shit is good or not either, because he didn't use his own shit and never will.

"Fuck you!" Daron spats at him, rubbing at his wrist violently, neck muscles flexing. He looks offensive and defensive at one and ready to jump at someone.

It's impressive, John thinks tapping his cigar, how fast time flies by. The kid in front of him is far from a kid. He has to be at least twenty six give or take and John is pushing forty, himself.

John has aged way better than the addict in front of him, obviously, who looks thinner and whose clothes get bigger as time goes by. Long limbs had been filled out with thin wiry muscle, hands delicate with long bony fingers and bluish veins he had yet to blemish, hair bleached looking feathery on top, and his eyes dark and wide, the most interesting feature about his face...

It was a shame, really, he was kind of a pretty thing.

"Don't fuck druggies, sweetheart, you should know that." He says as he grabs the ass of the girl sitting on the floor. She moans, high pitch and all as she tosses back her long hair.

Daron shouts then, John watches it all unfolding as he tosses off everything in his table, lunging for him. The girl, whose name John never cared to remember screams and runs away as if someone lit her on fire. Daron grabs the man by the collar, lanky arms holding a strong grip that John has no trouble overpowering. John punches him in the face twice, muscles on his strong arms contracting, shoulders squaring up. He can feel the impact on his knuckles as the boy falls to the ground with a whimper, eyes bloodshot and bulging.

"Breakin' two fucking rules in one night, Malakian?" He spats, glaring down at the trembling form of the younger junkie. "That's a damn shame, you were one of my favorites.

"Please...shit..." Daron spits blood out on John's pristine white carpet, as he tries to stand up on shaky, unsteady limbs. "N-Need a fix, man, please!" He has never begged, not once since John had been supplying him, doubted the man had a bone of humility or weakness in him. "Got caught stealing, didn't go too well for me, but I fuckin' swear I got you next week, jus' need a hit..." His nasal voice sounds more so as his face begins to swell.

"I don't give discount codes kid. I'm not a bank either." John says, the cool in his voice lost as he grabs the smaller man by the hem of his beaten down shirt. He starts to walk towards the door when the younger starts pulling at his belt buckle, fumbling with it.

"The fuck are you doing?" John yanks his hand off, grabbing him by his hair.

"I-I'll give you the money, p-pay the rest with something else." Daron shakes, eyes looking more and more desperate as minutes pass.

"I said I don't fuck junkies." He glares down at Daron, "Are you deaf too?"

"Y-You can use my mouth." Daron says desperately, rubbing his face on John's thigh like some sort of stray cat. John stares at him, eyes dark and unreadable. He usually would cut his clientele off before they got this bad, or they would die by the time it got to this. There were always plenty of people to take their place.

Just like there were always plenty of clean, good looking and sane people that he could fuck. He had power, and was very good looking after all. What was there not to like? There were plenty of women waiting in line for him and he would please them, never hitting the same person twice.

In his line of work attachments could be just as deadly as addictions.

He never paid for sex, never exchanged drugs for sex either. But that wasn't a spoken rule...

Daron's eyes roll back in glee, cum still dripping from his chin as he shoves a needle in his arm at the foot of John's bed.

*

After that it becomes a normality between them.

Daron would show up, looking underfed and skinnier still and John would dismiss whatever man or woman that happened to be in his house. Daron would be more often than not short on money, because the prices kept rising and finding a stable job was hard these days, especially for someone like him. He'd fall to his knees with grace, looking up at John with such eyes that had no right looking as innocent as they did as he would get his throat roughly fucked until he gagged and couldn't take it no more.

It was almost artistic, to the point that if John could do art, he'd paint it.

His voice would get raspy after, pretty eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he laughed in that timid voice of his as another high took over. The pretty thing would lie on John's expensive carpet of his own private bedroom, rolled on his back as he was taken to the land of wonders.

"I swear this shit keeps getting better. Fuck." He'd say, eyes straining to focus, eyelashes fluttering as he stared up at John, slightly out of breath. John would stare back at him with a smirk and hunger in his eyes, already waiting for the next time he'd be back.

He'd fallen into such routine that when Daron shows up the next time, holding a leather wallet that had no business being in his filthy hands, and asks to pay in full, John won't have it.

"Prices are up again?" He'd ask, eyes focused as he takes a few more bills with shaky hands from the wallet. "Damn, where are you taking this shit from?" He'd huff out in laughter, passing the bills to John. "That's ok, I can pay more."

But John stays silent in front of him, face stoic and figure laid back on his throne.

"Is there anything wrong?" Daron turns to ask, eyes wide in question as the silence of the other man catches up with him. "N-need my fix man..."

"Suck me first." The voice holds authority, leaving no room for discussion as his stone cold eyes roam the younger's figure.

"How much more man, I can pay?" He repeats, roaming through his wallet again and John gets up from his chair grabbing the younger by the hair, nails scraping his scalp and shoving him down on his knees. The guy goes down easily, thin body and the gravity doing its job.

"I said suck me first, bitch. Do I have to repeat myself?" Daron looks up at him then, eyes lighting up, lips turning into a big smile, crooked teeth and all, as he fumbles with the older man's belt buckle. It's almost shocking, the fact that John has to come to terms with the fact that he has become as hooked on the younger as he has been on John for years.

"If ya wanted my mouth you just had to say so." Daron smirks looking up at John in a way that's dangerous for the younger man as John's arm muscles flex, self preservation and control slowly seeping away.

He fucks his mouth extra hard, thumb sweeping away at the tears as he orders the younger to bring out his own cock. The younger is enjoying it as much as John is, as he works on his leaking cock while his airway gets muffled with the man's length, yet he moans around it.

He understands he is royally fucked the moment Daron lies with his head on his lap, hand caressing his bleached hair as he injects himself. John smiles down at him and Daron stares back with eyes watery and innocent. He always rewards him with the high quality shit on the occasions he sucks him extra good.

*

Daron limps into the house with a bruised eye and a busted lip as he fumbles with unsteady hands through another wallet. The house is completely empty and Daron is not yet conscious that the buff man standing in front of him doesn't need anyone else around anymore, finally and officially completely addicted to Daron only.

"Who did this to you?" The man asks, voice aggressive and Daron finally has to look up as the tone sets off something in him.

"Just some people, man, don't worry about it." He shrugs as he turns back to scrappy wallet.

The older man is quick on his feet, approaching the younger with a new sense of aggression Daron has never seen on him.

"You're mine, understand?" His blood boils at the appearance of the bruises in the younger's face. No one had the right to touch what belonged to him. He was going to hunt them down and burn them to the ground if that was what it took for them to learn the lesson. His right hand swiftly shoots up, grabbing the tiny man by the throat as he spits out the words. Daron struggles to breathe, eyes bulging as he looks at John who seems so uncharacteristically pissed off.

"From this moment on you belong to me and me only. You don't steal anymore, you don't give shows anymore, none of that. If you need a fix you come to me, if you need money you come to me. Everything you need will come from me and me only. Understand? You will do nothing without my permission!" He spats through gritted teeth.

"All yours, man." Daron musters faintly through little breath left in his lungs as he wraps a dainty, bony hand around the man's wrist as his head starts to get dizzy.

"Good." The man says, hand releasing his throat giving no time to the younger to catch his breath as he clashes his mouth with the smaller guy's. The kiss is raw, all crooked teeth and full lips colliding, tearing, searching, conquering. It's like John is getting his fix after a long time of withdrawal and he cannot get enough.

Daron paws at him after a while, eyes wide and voice needy and John knows just what he needs.

He fucks Daron through his high, as the boy sits on his back, mouth open in glee. He had never been on his back. Their fucking sessions would be rough, rushed with Daron on all fours but today John wanted to take his time. Make the boy his.

Careful lubed fingers search for his entrance, mindfully and slowly preparing him. Daron moans as John fucks him with the passion and attention no one has ever paid to him, as hungry hands and lips mark him as a whole.

From that day on, as long as John is alive, he will never have to struggle again. He will never have to steal or count pennies and nickels, eating a meal every once in a while trying to get by.

Maybe for the first time in his life, Daron is safe. Daron is loved.

*

Danny told Serj about this place that apparently had 'the best shit I've ever tried in my life and the dealer is so hot too' and although Serj wasn't one for strong drugs, weed being the only thing he smoked, his will had caved when Danny had shoved a few hundred dollar bills in his hand with the address and a phone number.

The house didn't look just like any drug house he had ever seen or imagined either. Walking through the living room he finds the guy is supposed to talk to, leaning back on his chair, piercing black eyes and hostile features, smoking a cigar as a thin boy with bleached hair sits on his lap. The guy doesn't look much older than Serj, as he blissfully snuggles his head at the man's neck.

"Uhm, I'm here for the few tablets?" Serj looks at the intimidating man, voice trembling a bit. The man pushes some strands of hair lovingly and carefully out of the obvious druggie's face in his lap.

"I got the tablets," he starts, "if you got the money."