He remembered the first time he saw him. Two women draped over his arms, the scent of smoke, liquor, and sex high in the air.

Couldn't  have been a day over 16, looking rough and fucked up and homeless, a  black eye forming around one that had hardly healed. Too thin, wiry and  still growing, with droopy, sad blue eyes and dimples that were visible  even as he scowled. Was dragged in by Sami, a regular of Roman's since  he got into the game about 3 years ago.

Roman never really cared  about the ages of his clients. If kids wanted to melt their brains  snorting and smoking on his supply, it was their fucking business and it  kept his business afloat.

He handed them a few tablets and told  them they could bum around the place for a bit since it was the auburn  haired kid's first hit.

"Dean." He had grunted out, voice raspy as if he had been smoking since he came out the womb.

Hell, maybe he did.

Again, none of Roman's business what he clients did and when or where they did it.

Although  he sort of regretted offering his space when he found one of those  punks vomited on his back porch. At least they paid for their shit in  full.

-

Dean kept coming back to him after that night, even  after good ol' Sami had overdosed, using too much of some new shit Roman  didn't sell because he wasn't stupid and didn't jump on the bandwagon  for new supply crazes. He sold shit because he knew people wanted it,  they were stables, shit that would always be in supply. Crack, cocaine,  heroin, PCP, and a little bit of LSD for some clients. Didn't want to  risk blowing up shit with meth, but he had a buddy of his he could refer  people to if the mood struck for some.

Years passed, Dean went  from a wiry kid to a lithe man, from dragging himself in looking like he  had been beaten to looking like he had been doing the beating. Roman  could tell he probably quite literally fought for his money and he spent  at least half of it on things to snort or swallow or, when he had a  particularly high income on a given week, inject. All from Roman's  supply. He almost felt bad.

Almost.

-

"Been comin' to  you for over a fuckin' decade and you can't hit a brother with a lil'  something for just a lil' bit less?" Dean rubbed at his collarbone,  Roman huffing smoke out around a cigar as he leaned back in his too  expensive chair, brushing back the vibrant hair of one of his many  conquests as she laid lazily across the plush carpet and his lap.

"So  you mean to tell me you've been coming to me for fucking years and  you're still too stupid to know my rules?" The other man bristled at  that, before twitching a little.

Roman had very few rules. Don't  ask him about the high because he doesn't use his own shit and never  will, don't cause problems in his house or his hood, and don't ask for  fucking discounts. Pay the full price or get the fuck out.

"Fuck  you." Dean spat at him, rubbing violently at his collarbone, flexing his  muscles a little. Defensive and offensive in one, always looked like he  was ready to lung at someone.

He tapped his cigar a bit, smirking  at the kid. Jesus had time flown by, because there was no way the  addict in front of him could be seen as a kid. He had to be at least 30  now and Roman was pushing 40 himself. He aged better than Dean had,  naturally, but his muscle had filled out nice, those ever present  dimples still obvious, and his beard and chest hair had filled out, a  hint of red to it like the mop on top of his head. Damn shame, he was  kind of a pretty thing.

"Don't bang junkies, sweetheart, you know  that." Roman squeezed the ass of the girl on the floor who moaned in  response, preening a little as she tossed back some of her purple locks.  "Now get the fuck out and come back when you have the proper bills."

Dean  tweaked out a bit then, Roman saw the telltale flux as he shouted,  tossing everything off of Roman's table, lunging at him. The girl whose  name Roman had easily forgotten screamed and ran out of the room like  someone had lit her ass on fire. Dean grabbed at his shirt collar,  breath hot and just on the latter side of putrid as his baby blues,  bloodshot and crazed, bulged.

Roman grabbed at his wrist easily,  pulling Dean off and swinging, punching him square in the jaw once,  twice. Sure, the kid had gotten stronger with age, but Roman had no  issue overpowering him. "Breakin' two fucking rules in one night,  Ambrose?" He glared down at the crumbled form of the trembling junkie.  "Damn shame, you were one of my favorite clients."

"P-Puh...Please...fuck..."  Dean spat blood out on Roman's carpet, sitting up on shaky limbs, face  beginning to swell. "N-Need a fix, man, please!" He never begged, not  once since Roman had been supplying him, doubted the man had a bone of  humility or weakness in him. "L-Lost a fight, didn't get paid much, but I  fuckin' swear I got ya next week, jus' need a hit..."

"Don't  fucking do discounts, kid. Don't do IOUs, either." Roman was ready to  drag him out by the back of his thread barren shirt when Dean lifted a  hand up to Roman's belt buckle, fumbling with it. "The fuck you trying  to pull?" Roman yanked his hand off, tugging Dean by his hair.

"G-Give you the money...I-I can pay for the difference with somethin' else." Dean trembled, eyes looking more desperate.

"Said I don't fuck junkies." He glared down at Dean. "Or are you stupid AND deaf?"

"Y-You  can use my mouth..." Dean shivered, clawing at Roman's thigh desperately,  crazed like few of Roman's clientele had been. They usually died or he  cut them out of his client base before they got this bad. There never  was a shortage of people to replace them.

Just like there was  never a shortage of clean, consensual fucking Roman could have. He was a  good looking man, had his fair selection of women and men and took  plenty of them gladly. Usually didn't smash the same person more than  once, though. Didn't get attached like that. Never had to beg or pay for  a fuck, never exchanged sex for drugs. But it wasn't a spoke rule.

There  was still come dripping down Dean's heaving chest as he shoved the  needle in his arm, eyes rolling back in glee at the foot of Roman's bed.

-

It became a norm for them after that.

Roman  would dismiss whatever men or women that had found themselves in his  home and Dean, whether victorious or defeated, because Roman's prices  had risen and he was almost always short on cash, fell to his knees and  had his throat fucked until he gagged.

His voice was even raspier  after, fucked well as he muttered litanies of praises as his next high  took over his body. "Fuuuuck..." He would breath out, soft eyelashes  fluttering as he stared up at Roman. "...swear this shit keeps gettin'  better and better..."

Kid didn't need to know Roman snapped a pic of  him passed out, come splattered on his chest and track marks visible on  his arms. Definitely didn't need to know Roman used it as a background  for his private, non-business phone.

They had gotten into such a  habit that when Dean came and actually had the right amount to pay,  giddy with anticipation and excitement as he scratched at his neck.  "Took down this big fucker, Samoa Joe or somethin'...beat him to a pulp  and got three times as much." His hands were antsy as he passed Roman  over the money, but the drug dealer scowled. "...'s there a problem, Ro?  Need...need my shit man."

"Suck me first."

"Yer prices go up  again?" Dean rolled his eyes, opening his wallet and taking out a few  more bills, hands getting more uneasy as the wait became extended. "How  much more, man?"

Roman glowered, because that wouldn't fucking do.  He had to face the fact he had become just as hooked up on Dean as Dean  has been to him for years. "Told you to fucking suck me, bitch. Do I  have to repeat myself?" He grabbed the addict's hair, down to the scalp,  shoving him down onto his knees.

"Heh..." Dean smirked up at him,  those dangerous dimples overcoming his face and those droopy blues with a  dangerous glint. "...if ya wanted my mouth, Romie, jus' had to say so..."

He  fucked Dean's mouth extra hard and for the first time ever, told Dean  to take his cock out during their little transaction as well. The kid  did, his own cock hard and dripping as he tugged on it while having his  air cut off by Roman's own thick length. Huh, no wonder he was so  fucking good at sucking Roman, knew how to work an uncut cock because he  had one himself.

Roman was getting attached, knew he was fucking  fallen when he pet through Dean's hair as he injected himself. Always  gave him the high quality shit when he sucked him off extra well.

-

Funnily  enough, he didn't fuck Dean for the first time in exchange for a hit.  He just stumbled in on the man at some bar. Roman held alcohol well and  not to his surprise, so did Dean. They couldn't use being drunk as an  excuse. Couldn't use anything as an excuse.

Roman just pushed him  into the alley behind the bar, yanked his jeans down to his thighs and  spat at his pink little hole. He was rough, rougher than he had ever  been with his conquests, but unlike them he knew Dean could take it and  beg for more.

"Fuck, big man...breakin' me in half..." Dean panted  out, like a goddamn bitch in heat, bending his spine too easily and  clenching around Roman's cock like he was made for it.

He just  growled, pulling at auburn hair and hammered away until he came, not  caring if Dean enjoyed it or not. He did, though, if the come against  the brick was any indication. Dean spun around and captured Roman's  mouth with his own, the putrid taste of slowly rotting teeth and alcohol  was intoxicating to Roman.

-

The next time Dean had visited  him, Roman had no one else in his house. He wasn't interested in any  conquests, officially addicted to his scrappy, mentally unstable client.  "You're mine, you understand?" The nasty black eye over Dean's right  eye from a bad fight caused him to snap, grabbing the other man by his  throat and squeezing. "No one fucking else's, huh? You go nowhere  without my permission again, you fight no one, you come to me for  everything from now on, right?"

"A-All yers, big dog..." Dean croaked out, grabbing at Roman's wrist and smirking with what little breath he could muster out.

He  never fought again, never hungered or craved for anything again.  Because Roman made fucking sure he got everything he fucking needed and  nothing less. Every high, every fuck, every single goddamn thing Roman  gave him.

-

Marek told Seth about this place, about how it  was the greatest high he had ever gotten and the dealer was fucking hot  as hell. Seth had never tried anything himself, but after his friend had  shoved a few hundreds in his hands with address of his dealer, telling  him they would have the time of their lives together with just a few  pills, he caved.

It really didn't look like any drug house Seth  had imagined. He stepped into the living room, finding a tan man with  piercing eyes, a strong jaw, and long black hair smoking a cigar with a  strung out auburn haired male over his lap, blissfully lulling his head  as if he wasn't even there.

"U-Um...I'm...here to pick up the  f-few...tablets." The teen stammered out, eyes wide as the dealer gently  and lovingly pushed back some hair out of the obvious druggie's eyes.

"I got the tablets." He started, shifting on the couch. "If you got the money."