Author: Oreitheia

Title: Fair Exchange

Pairing: Jack Dalton/Dennis Rickman

Rating: R

Series: sequel to 'Jailbait'

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC. I'm just playing.

Summary: Dennis begins to realise his worth as Dalton's lust grows stronger.

~ Fair Exchange ~
by Oreitheia

The sun was shining, but inside the club it was as dark as midnight.

Jack Dalton had no particular quibble with the sun, but in his world, darkness held sway. He sometimes wondered who'd coined the phrase 'the underworld' to describe criminal dealings. Somebody who was fearful of the dark, perhaps somebody who could see things only in terms of absolutes: the good and the bad, the moral and the immoral, the light and the dark.

Jack had little interest in absolutes. He encouraged it in his boys.... loyaltywas rewarded and transgressions were punished ... but for himself, he followed his own code. It did not bow to absolutes, although it crossed into both extremes when a situation called for it; but neither did he live strictly within the confines of shades of grey. He disliked compromise, but was willing to play
with it until he could twist it to suit his needs.

Such an attitude made his mind an erratic beast to live with. It also ensured that he was the most feared gangland boss in the East End. Nothing could surprise him. He could fight his way out of any corner.

Except for this one.

Dennis Rickman...

The boy was like a itch that needed to be scratched, yet Dalton could not yet bring himself to do it. He told himself he wanted more time to gain Dennis' trust, to bind them together in the dark, seedy underground of his life, but his fantasies ached. He wanted Dennis with all the abandon of an addict desperate for the next hit: wanted to lock him in his Brighton villa until the lad surrendered. He knew as well as anybody that it was remarkably easy for a sixteen-year old to disappear without trace. Dennis had no family to miss him; nobody to care if he vanished. It would be so simple.

Jack was disgusted with himself every time his lust clamoured at him. He was no poofter, and he certainly wasn't a paedophile. His moral code insisted that he stay within the limits of absolutes.... nothing instead of all ... at least until Dennis was older.

And meanwhile, he sat in the cool darkness of his club, thinking.

It was dark wherever he set up an operation. Jack insisted upon it. Nightclubs, bars, casinos, brothels .... always darkness, with no windows. The fire brigade's safety officer invariably complained about it .... no escape routes other than the doors, and no internal windows to give alarm in case of a fire, but Jack didn't care. Without any source of natural light, it was impossible to tell the time. He always banned clocks and timepieces from his establishments for the same reason.

Time stopped when one entered a Dalton place: it was suspended, free-falling, until the bar closed or the music stopped or the girls counted out their money and waved the punters goodbye. Time stopped; but for Jack, it carried on ticking, forcing his concentration and bringing forward his decisions.

He thought of Dennis. Two weeks ago, under the fading heat of the late afternoon sun, his pool-boy had swept the terrace with more care than usual, even plucking the drying dead leaves from the terracotta pots of the ornamental cherries. Jack had watched him from the conservatory, making his interest idle as he negotiated a deal over the telephone. The call had ended unsatisfactorily, and so he sat back on the sun-lounger and scowled into a glass of whiskey.

Dennis chose that moment to approach him. He discarded the broom and stepped into the conservatory warily, head high as if testing the air; and then he slunk towards Dalton and came to a standstill at the foot of the lounger.

"What d' you want?" Jack asked gruffly.

"A word."

"You've had one." Dalton nursed the whiskey against his chest and eyed Dennis up and down. "Are you going to finish that pool, or d'you think I pay you to stand around and look decorative?"

The sneer lifted his mouth, his eyes suddenly hooded. "I don't know. Maybe you do. But as I recall, you don't pay me at all."

Dalton gave a short bark of laughter. "Then what do you call this?" he asked, spreading wide his arms and slopping a little of the whiskey onto the tiled floor. "I let you stay here, give you a free hand -"

"That's charity," Dennis said, chin up aggressively. "I don't want no charity. That's what social services gave me. That's what my foster-parents gave me. But I don't want it no more. I'm sick to the back teeth of charity."

Jack wiped a fastidious finger around the base of his glass, gathering up the drips of whiskey that had sloshed over the side. It was a pity to waste good malt. He sucked his finger thoughtfully as he regarded Dennis, who had returned to his habitual teenage slouch as soon as his speech had ended.

"You want to work for a living?" Dalton asked gently.

Dennis gave him a sharp look. "Yes. I know what you do, Jack. I want to be part of it."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "And what is it that I do?"

Dennis hesitated for a second. "You.... you're a businessman. You do deals."

"Good lad." He took a sip of whiskey, considering the offer. "Perhaps I could find something for you to do. But I'd need to be sure of you, first. Test you, so to speak."

Up went his chin again, like a prize-fighter ready to accept a punch. "I'm not afraid," Dennis stated, his tone calm although his posture suggested bluster. "I'll do anything."

Anything... Again the invitation that made Dalton's body tighten with expectation and desire; but he pushed the thought away and instead concentrated on the image of the prize-fighter. Oh, yes - if Dennis took to the ring, what an asset he would be...

"All right. We'll give it a go." Jack smiled up at the young man genially. "But you need to get in shape, first."

Dennis glanced down at himself. "Why?"

"Well... you're a bit skinny. A growing lad needs more meat on his bones. You could do with toughening up."

"I'm tough!"

Dalton suppressed his smile behind the glass. Dennis' adult attitude had given way to teenage uncertainty the moment he was criticised, and this was definitely something that Jack intended to capitalise on.

"I'm sure you are... around other kids," he soothed, watching Dennis flush red with embarrassment and anger. "But if I'm going to take you on, you need to be able to hold your own with some rough customers. I don't like no soft pansies, Dennis. My boys have to be hard as nails."

He leapt at the bait. "I'll do it. I'll be harder than all of them. You'll see!"

Jack nodded gently, his smile never wavering. "That's the spirit."

Dennis looked uncertain. "But how -"

"It's all arranged. You don't need to do anything, except work hard..." Jack reached for the notepad and pen beside the telephone and scribbled down an address in Woolwich, then tore off the paper and held it out.

Dennis almost snatched it from his fingers. "What is it?"

"A friend of mine runs a gym. He used to be a boxer... amateur, of course, but pretty good all the same. I think he could make something of you."

Dennis bit his lip, his fingers nervously tapping the edge of the paper. "Boxing's a mug's game. It's dangerous."

"You told me you were dangerous, when we first met." Dalton snorted his contempt and turned away, refilling his glass. "Have it your own way. I won't force you to do it if you're scared..."

"I ain't scared!" The bravado was back in full flood, and then it was tempered as Dennis added, "I was just saying, that's all."

"You have your own opinion, Dennis. I respect that," Jack said, affable again. "Let's see now... You go see my friend Harry, and he'll set you up. Do exactly what he says, and I'll add a nice bit of incentive to help you with the training, all right?"

Dennis cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing. "Incentive?"

"Every time you do well, I'll give you a pony."

Dalton watched the conflicting emotions chase across Dennis' face. His pride was hurt, but the lure of the bribe dazzled.

"You don't need to buy me," Dennis said at length, struggling with his morals.

"It's not a bribe, lad," Jack said gently. "A reward for effort. Like getting badges for learning to swim at school."

"They never gave me any," Dennis burst out, his tone injured. "Said I didn't deserve it after I ducked Carl Anderson under for calling me a bastard. I didn't know he couldn't swim. He shouldn't have been in the water in the first place -"

Dalton held up a hand to stem the flow of words. "Forget about that. This is where you start again, Dennis... with me. I'll look after you now; and if I want to give a reward for hard work, then I shall." He put down his glass again and felt for his wallet, peeling off four tens and handing them over. "There. That's to get you started. You'll need gym gear. Harry will tell you what."

Dennis took the money and bunched it tightly in his fist. For the first time, a smile broke through the sullen expression. "I'll do it, Jack. I won't let you down."

Dalton returned the smile. "I know you won't."

Two weeks had passed swiftly. Jack had been surprised and delighted when Harry rang to inform him of his protage's progress. Dennis had taken to the ring like a duck to water. Jack had smiled at that, glad that he could still recognise raw anger in a man. There were certain of his boys who never could tame their temper, and he saved them for certain occasions when negotiations and
compromise had broken down, and he needed the finality of an absolute. They were his wildcards; but he didn't want Dennis to be one of them. The lad had class. He was better than that. He was angry and bitter... of course he was, with his background... but he could make it right, with a bit of help.

Jack Dalton never helped anybody unless there was something in it for him, but in taking the first steps to grooming Dennis, he saw himself as a benefactor. It made him feel surprisingly good. He felt himself puff out with pride every time Harry called with a report. He supposed that this must be what it was like to be a parent, admiring of their offspring's latest tricks.... except what he felt
for Dennis was in no way paternal.

Earlier that day, Dalton had been seated in this very office, listening to Andy give his opinion on a certain matter, when Dennis had walked in. No respectful knock at the door: he just strode in, supremely sure of himself and deliciously arrogant. Andy had turned, his expression registering faint shock and then contempt; and then he'd looked at his boss, expecting him to send Dennis packing. Instead, Jack stirred his coffee thoughtfully and set a questioning gaze on Dennis.

The boy blushed, flinched slightly from Dalton's look, and then came the bluster: "I ... I wanted to tell you. I beat Harry. Lucky punch maybe, but I still did it. I beat him. I thought you'd like to know."

Jack sat silently for a moment, allowing the words to sink meaninglessly into the crimson-painted walls of the room. Then, when he saw Dennis' hands begin to tremble, he nodded and smiled slowly.

"Good lad. That's m' boy. I'll have to come down the gym myself, see how you're doing."

Dennis glowed under the faint praise. "I like it there."

"Of course you do! You're a natural."

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, regaining Jack's attention; and so Dalton had taken out his wallet and counted out fifty pounds.

"Here. You've earned extra. Enjoy yourself," Jack said, pushing the money across the desk towards Dennis. He was surprised when the young man shook his head firmly.

"No, Jack. That ain't what I want. I didn't come here for the money."

Dalton narrowed his eyes. "What, then? I'm not about to give you a medal."


Dennis seemed nervous suddenly, and he flicked a glance at Andy before looking back at Jack. "It's Tony. He's a mate of mine. A good mate -"

Dalton felt his heart sink, but he maintained a pleasant smile. "Yes?"

"He's looking for work, too. He's all right..." Dennis offered.

"All right? I don't want 'all right', Dennis. I want the best," Jack said emphatically. "If I wanted 'all right', you'd still be cleaning my pool, and Andy here would still be flogging dodgy televisions from the back of a lorry and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

A speech like this usually had his boys backing away with tails set firmly between their legs, but it seemed to be a spur to Dennis. He took a step forwards and set his hands flat on the desk, leaning across it. Jack saw a moment of pure malevolence pass across Dennis' face; but then it was gone, leaving only the faintest, most subtle trace of pleading in those hooded eyes.

"Thing is, I promised him that I'd sort it," he said softly.

"Did you now?" Jack was unmoved.

"Yes. See, I kind of look out for him. We were in the home together -"

Jack guffawed, sitting back in his chair to glance at Andy as if to bring him in on the joke. "Doesn't it warm your heart to hear it!"

Andy gave him a thin, closed smile in response.

Dennis leaned forward, his jaw tight. "I'm serious, Jack."

"So am I." Dalton stared hard at the young man. "You said yourself, I'm not a charity. Take the money and buy your mate a night out. A meal, a few rounds of drinks... that sort of thing. If you keep twenty back, you could even buy him a bit of a seeing-to at Bella's."

Colour flooded Dennis' face as a flash of shock stiffened his body, and in a tone that would put a priest to shame, he said carefully: "Tony can find his own women. What he wants is a job."

"There's some nice girls at Bella's," Andy said.

Dennis swung round to glare at him, fury in every line of his body at the awareness that he was being mocked. "He don't want a girl! I promised I'd get him a job!"

"Dennis, Dennis," Jack said soothingly, "don't get so upset. We're all friends here. You can take a joke."

"Yeah."

He sounded unsure, but backed down. Andy's smile was triumphant.

"Well, now, Dennis," Jack continued, "here's a problem. I already helped you out, so that means you owe me. If I help your mate as well, then you know what that means, don't you?"

Dennis nodded swiftly. "He'll owe you, too."

"And....?"

The room was silent. Dennis frowned; then, tentatively: "And I'll owe you twice, because Tony's my friend?"

Jack smiled. "You're a bright boy, Dennis. Fair exchange... that's all I want."

The cocky look came back into his eyes as Dennis straightened, lifting his chin. "All right. It's a deal."

"Good lad." This time it was a dismissal, and Dennis understood it as such. With a final glance at Andy, he gave Dalton a smile that didn't quite relieve the strain in his eyes, and then he was gone.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Andy said, "He's playing you."

Jack grunted and sat back. "There's only one man pulling the strings here," he said quietly. "If you think it's Rickman, then maybe you"d better side with him."

Andy fidgeted. "That's not what I meant."

"Then until you can express yourself clearly, maybe you should shut up," Jack suggested. "Fair exchange. That's what I want... and that's what I'll get."

"Yes, boss," Andy agreed. "Absolutely."

Now, as the afternoon ticked away, Dalton sat in the same chair behind the same desk in the same room, and wondered if Andy had been right. Was he going soft over some gangly teenage kid? He told himself that Dennis wasn't just a kid. He was special. So special that Jack woke up at night to find the sheets damp with semen, the lingering knock of a dream taunting him with visions of that young, strong body trapped beneath him.

He hadn't yet been able to bring himself to visit Harry's gym. The thought of what he might do when confronted with Dennis hot from a fight, his torso glistening and his eyes fervent, made Jack afraid.

And when something frightened him, Jack Dalton met the challenge head on and took it down viciously, no matter what the consequences. His little obsession with Dennis would be no different. First prepare the ground; then manoeuvre the victim into position, stroking and petting and murmuring false assurance; and then, finally, he'd strike.

Preparation was key. He already had Dennis... that was easy. Jack needed to know what to do with him. His body had specific ideas, but he didn't want to look foolish when first he took Dennis. He wanted to be the one in control, the one with an omnipotence that would daze the lad into ecstatic submission...

To that end, Jack had driven to an all-night garage on the other side of Wandsworth and had bought a certain kind of magazine. The cashier had simply shoved it into a plastic bag, making no comment other than asking for the cost, and Jack had left feeling grubby and slightly sordid. He'd bundled the magazine into the top drawer of his desk, and there it sat still, waiting for him to examine its pages.

Now he tapped his fingers on the desk as if impatient, knowing full well that he was nervous. He wasn't a poofter. He just wanted to fuck Dennis. That didn't make him queer, surely?

Angrily, he yanked open the drawer and pulled out the bag, which was printed with the logo of the petrol station. The image on the cover of the magazine showed faintly through the thin plastic. Jack slid it free and crumpled the bag into a ball before throwing it at the rubbish bin.

The magazine lay on his desk, the glossy paper of the cover reflecting the glare from the lights. The tanned skin of the naked young man grinning at the camera seemed obscene, as did the bold white letters that promised delight to the reader if only they would turn the pages.

So he did: gingerly at first, his lips pursed in a moue of disgust at the first photo-feature. It was the man from the cover, posing in woodland; each picture showing more flesh and more cock. Jack shuddered and flicked over. There was an erotic story about a man getting laid by his neighbour. He skimmed through it with detachment, not feeling aroused in the slightest. On the next page was an interview with a porn star, followed by photos of the same man lying rampant on a beach. Jack riffled through the pages as disappointment welled. He hadn't expected a sex-guide, but he'd wanted more than this.

His interest perked at the movie reviews. Screenshots showed a hairy man penetrating a young lad who looked to be about the same age as Dennis. The lad was on all fours, his face distorted in either agony or pleasure as the man impaled him. Another picture from a different film showed a black man gripping his enormous erection, two men crouching at his feet to lick hungrily at his balls. A third image had two men fucking face to face, the man on top jerking off his supine lover. Jack studied this photo carefully, trying to imagine himself with Dennis in the same position.

He turned the page. Another photo-feature. This time, the model was a fresh-faced blond with a cheeky grin, photographed in gym shorts and a vest, with sneakers and little white socks. At first he posed on a slatted wooden bench, thighs wide apart. His shorts were so tight that the outline of his cock was clear.

Unbidden, the image of Dennis as he must look at Harry's gym sprang to mind. Jack could picture him exactly: dark hair tousled and damp, the sheen of sweat across his upper lip; his skin flushed with exertion and his breathing erratic, the pulse of blood through his veins rapid and visible at the fine skin of his throat...

Jack dropped a hand to his lap and cupped the stirring at his groin. He wasn't sure if he was trying to muffle it or encourage it. His palm felt warm through the navy blue cloth of his suit, and he gripped down hard. With his free hand, he brought the magazine closer. He stared at the blond boy, erasing the all-American good looks and superimposing rougher features, hard-angled and
dark. Instead of the bright blue eyes and big smile, he imagined mistrustful eyes and an arrogant sneer. Dennis glowered up at him from the page, careless of the lust he inspired and contemptuous of Jack's admiration.

The next picture showed the boy 'Dennis' against the wall of the locker-room. The harsh strip-lighting cast shallow shadows beneath cheekbones, in the hollows of his temples, under the heavy brows. His eyes were reduced to points of light that bored into the camera disdainfully. One arm lay across his chest, lifting the hem of the vest high enough to reveal the hard nub of a nipple; the other hand weighted down the waistband of the shorts, the crisp curls of hair just visible.

Jack turned the page, his breath shortening as he lost himself in fantasy. The first picture showed Dennis half-naked, the vest discarded on the wooden bench beside him as he bent to untie the laces of his sneakers. The shorts were cut so high and tight that they bit into the flesh of his arse, the shiny white fabric a foil for the long legs and downy smoothness of youthful skin. The second shot had him completely naked, the challenge ripe in his eyes as he leaned back against the dull steel grey of the lockers. The shiny metal key-chains hanging from the locks reminded Jack perversely of the links of handcuffs. He pawed his erection through his trousers, stiff enough to find the chafing of cloth restrictive but not yet brave enough to touch solid flesh.

The next photo saw Dennis standing in a shower cubicle, the clinical white of the tiles and the silvered chrome of the pipe and shower mechanism thrown dark by the living, breathing creature who stood with his back to the viewer. His head was turned slightly, his hair sleek at the nape of his neck and his spine straight and rigid. He stood with his feet apart, the muscles pulled tight all
the way down, the cleft of his arse a shadowed mystery flaunted.

Jack groaned as his gaze jumped eagerly to the next image. Dennis wet, his dangerous edge rubbed away by steam and the torrent of water from above; his expression no longer arrogant but blissful as he turned his face to the shower-head. The hot water sluiced his body, battering pale skin to healthy pink and darkening hair to glitter-black beneath the lights. His cock was semi-erect, curving up towards his belly. In longing, Jack unzipped his trousers and groped for his own organ, closing his fingers around the shaft with a sigh.

More pictures; more images to torment him. Soap-suds kissing their way down his body; Dennis bending over to let the spray fuck him; a close-up of his hand on his cock, fully-veined and hot, so glistening tight with the water that it seemed as if the next gush of spray would see him explode.

Jack's hand moved faster; no longer surreptitious and guilty but hungry for release. He squeezed his cock, trying to prolong pleasure as he studied the rest of the photographs. An arty shot caught his attention: Dennis behind a glass panel in the cubicle, his face and body mere shapes save for where he pressed himself against the glass. The panel was streaked and speckled with soap; his
cock standing proud, smearing the glass to give a glimpse of his balls risen tight. One hand was spread, the palm and finger-prints glaring through the glass like a criminal's record sheet. Part of his chest nudged the panel, his nipple brushed by soapy water and teased by glass.

"Oh, God," Jack moaned, feeling the heavy, sweet ache of climax approaching. Desperately, he grabbed across the desk for something.... anything... to catch the spill of musky spunk. He knocked the magazine to the floor as he curled both hands over his cock, pumping out his seed into a wad of five ten-pound notes, the hard currency that Dennis had refused.

Shuddering, weak, Jack threw the ruined money away from him and sat motionless in his chair until he felt strong enough to face what his desire had done. Only then did he tuck himself away and reach for the fallen magazine. The corners of several of the pages were creased, but still it opened on the young man in the locker-room. Dalton shivered again, not from lust this time, as he studied the blond lad with the perky smile and blue eyes. He was nothing like Dennis. No arrogance; no sneer; no challenge.

He closed the magazine and dropped it onto the desk, crossing his arms over it as if it were dangerous.

"God help me," Jack whispered; and for the first time in his life, he knew he'd met his match.


End