Sex Slave Or Lovers. Which One Am I? {BoyxBoy} Book 1

Dorian's POV

A brilliant idea popped into my head as he wasn't sure about staying. I jumped up and paced over to the door.

                       "And where do you think you're going, young man?" my dad called me over my shoulder.

                       "Somewhere," I yanked opened the door and walked over to my shiny black mustang. I revved the engine and pulled out the driveway. Once I was clear, I stepped on the gas and torn down the street down to the intersection. I looked out the window, at the moment passing the bad side of town. Most of the houses were unstable and didn't even look like a house. Aaron's raggedy black hoodie laid unmoved in the seat next to me. I turned in at a unseen corner where I parked. I pulled his jacket up to my face and breathed in his scent. Pine needles and lavender filled my nostrils and intoxicated me. Inside was his address carefully stitched onto his pocket. I pulled out and turned into another street which was even worse. I turned around until I found a house that was the only one that seemed to be suitable for someone to live in. I parked in front and grabbed my keys and slid them down my pocket. I threw the door open and walked out in the cool autum air. I pulled my coat closer as I walked pass a hobo doing some illegal drug. Probably cocaine by the looks of it. His eyes flickered to me and my car. I glared at him and turned away brutely. I walked up the cracked sidewalk and stopped at the badly rotting door. I knocked twice to find it swung open by a rather large hairy man with a beer belly. A lit cigarette laid on his mouth as he clutched a TV remote in his other hand.

                         "Mr. Haymark?" I raised my eyebrows in question. He grunted and pulled his cancer stick out.

                         "I don't want to buy any of your bullshit. Get lost, fag," his cold black eyes looked straight through me, making me feel unusually vulnerable. I could see why Aaron was on the streets.

                         "I'm not selling anything, sir," I couldn't help but put sarcasm in my voice. "I just want to talk." Aaron's dad moved aside with a disapproving glare. I stepped in and instantly regretted it. The inside was worse than the outside. There was practically no clean area in his so called house. The old ratty TV was still on and blabbering about some accident that happened in a different country. He strolled in after me and pointed down at the couch for me to sit. I shook my head and moved away. I wanted as much space a possible away from him and his dirt. He plopped down on the couch as a cloud of dust and filth rose up. I looked down at my black converse and back up.

                         "Whatever you want to spill out, make it fast. I'm busy," his gruff voice filled the silence between us. I sighed and tried to find a way to start. The door swung open and running inside was a little boy that looked like he was nothing but trouble. He was no older than Matthew and seemed to be up for anything that involved some sort of pain. Mud was tracked in, blending with the floor.

                          "Bruce! You little ass! Watch where you're going," his father yelled at him. Bruce's facial feature changed from one of michief to hatred and coolness. The older one stood over him and smacked him on his cheek. "Don't look at me like you're someone better than me! You will look at me with respect! Now get in you're room, you little shit!" Bruce rubbed his slapped face and retreated somewhere. I was shocked to see what had happened. I don't blame Aaron for leaving and staying on the streets. His life here must be terrible. His father sat back down and gave me a long stare. I uncomfortably shifted weight from my left foot to the other. I opened my mouth and began to put my plan into action.