Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's webpage: http://www.slashcity.org/~rushlight

Author's disclaimer: This is a piece of non-profit fan fiction and is not meant to infringe on the copyright of Paramount or Pet Fly, Inc.

**WARNINGS!!**: nonconsensual sex, please do not read if this offends you

Feedback: yes, please! Any comments, encouragement, critique, etc. will be endlessly appreciated. :)

Innocence Lost
By, Rushlight

It was a fairly unremarkable Saturday morning as Blair followed Jim into the cool interior of the First Federal Bank on 128th Street. It was their first day off in nearly two weeks, and Jim had just turned in the paperwork on the case that had consumed their waking hours for longer than Blair preferred to contemplate. Simon had just given them the news that this weekend would mark the beginning of a week-long and sorely needed vacation for the two of them.

Blair sighed wearily and rubbed at his eyes as the tiny bell over the door tinkled over their heads. He was truly looking forward to this coming week, just kicking back and doing absolutely nothing work-related. Lounging around the apartment sounded good, maybe watching some TV. The image came immediately to mind of him cuddled up on the big couch next to Jim, a warm blanket wrapped snugly around them both, his head resting on Jim's shoulder as the bigger man's arms slid tightly around him. Blair smiled slightly as the image took hold. Oh, yeah. That was a definite way to start their vacation.

Jim smiled down at him as they stepped inside. Fortunately, the bank wasn't crowded at this time of the morning, and Jim was able to move right up to the teller window. Blair hung back a little while his partner conducted his business, his eyes moving to the bristling security cameras positioned in a high corner of the room. They seemed to point in about ten different directions, taking in the whole scope of the room. Blair focused on the one that seemed to be pointed at him and waved.

A sudden movement outside on the street caught his attention and he turned to stare, for a moment unable to understand the significance of the three men who were moving in towards the front doors of the bank. They were all wearing Halloween masks. That was strange, especially considering that it was only September.

Blair's mind made the connection a moment too late. Even as he swung around to shout a warning to Jim, the doors of the bank were opening and the masked men stepped inside. Blair caught a frantic glimpse of heavy automatic weapons emerging from underneath long coats before one of the men took careful aim and took out the nest of security cameras in the corner of the room.

Chaos erupted at the sound of the gunfire, and Blair plunged to the ground, reacting instinctively as a chorus of terrified screams rose in the air around him. The other customers were shrinking back away from the armed trio, who were now aiming their weapons at the tellers behind the counters and shouting harsh orders that all hands be kept in plain sight. Blair huddled down against the floor, cursing inwardly. His heart was pounding, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he desperately willed this not to have happened. Not on the first day of their vacation. Of all the rotten luck!

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then.

"Police!" Jim's voice rose over the chaos, and Blair's head shot up off the floor, his eyes wide. Surely Jim couldn't be that stupid. But yes, there was his heroic and incredibly brainless Sentinel, drawing his sidearm and crouching behind the central island to aim it at the bad guys. He looked like an avenging angel, his face a mask of righteous fury.

Shit, Blair thought, his heartbeat racing. He glanced at the robbers, feeling a flood of overwhelming relief as two of them actually seemed to hesitate at the unexpected appearance of the cop in their midst. But the third immediately aimed his rifle at Blair where he lay prostrate on the floor in the middle of the room. The twisted werewolf features of the man's mask looked suddenly menacing in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room.

"Put the gun down or I'll kill him."

Sudden silence reigned in the room, obscenely loud, broken only by the roar of Blair's furiously beating heart. He could hardly breathe, and he could not take his eyes from the gun that was pointed at him. The robbers must have seen the two of them enter the bank together; they knew that Jim wouldn't risk having him killed.

The look on Jim's face was stricken, although he did not remove his gaze from the robbers. His eyes narrowed, and for one moment, his face twisted in an expression of such abject hatred that it rivaled the fury of the masks the three robbers wore. Very, very slowly, he lowered his gun to the floor.

The man in the werewolf mask immediately moved forward to retrieve the surrendered weapon. Twisting it slightly in his grip, he slammed the butt into the side of Jim's head. Jim crumpled and fell to the floor.

"No!" Blair shot up to his knees without thinking, shaking with cold fury at this casual display of violence. His heartbeat was racing so hard it felt it would pound right out of his chest, but he could not take his eyes from the shape of Jim's motionless body. He tore his gaze away after a moment and glared up at his lover's assailant with sheer hatred burning in his eyes.

"Put him in the back." The werewolf was obviously the leader of the group. Instantly, the robber in the Dracula mask moved to obey.

Blair watched helplessly as Jim was dragged ungracefully into a back room. He could hardly believe this was happening. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare, and any second now he was going to wake up.

The werewolf's eyes raked over the assembled group of hostages; he appeared to be well and truly pissed. When he spoke, his voice was cold. "If any of you has any further plans for fucking heroics, I'd suggest you forget about it. If you don't do exactly as you're told, there will be consequences." Blair believed him.

The werewolf motioned shortly toward an office at the rear of the bank. Immediately, his two partners began herding the hostages back into the makeshift prison. Blair was just preparing to stand and follow them when the werewolf's gun leveled at him again. He froze, one hand pressed against the floor in the act of rising.

"Not you," the werewolf said.

Blair's heartbeat shuddered within his chest at the softly voiced command. He felt cold suddenly as that grotesquely malformed visage glared down at him, and he half-believed he could feel the man's gaze crawling across the surface of his skin. Behind him, the hostages were being locked into the back rooms where they would be out of the way for the duration of the robbery.

"Ten minutes," the werewolf said sharply, once his partners reappeared. "Anything you don't get after that has to be left behind. I'll stay here with wonder boy to guard the front entrance."

Blair watched helplessly as the two other men vanished into the labyrinthine halls at the back of the bank. The werewolf moved to the front door and deftly turned the sign on the glass so that it read "closed" and turned the latch of the bolt lock, effectively sealing them inside. Although they could see out onto the street very clearly, the privacy-darkened glass wouldn't allow anyone to see in.

Then the werewolf turned to look at Blair, and Blair's apprehension spiked anew. He was painfully aware of how very alone he was here, and how very little he knew about these men or the intentions that they had. These were dangerous men, and there was no telling what they wanted or what they were capable of. Blair's only comfort was that they hadn't killed Jim. They hadn't killed him. There was still a chance that they might make it out of here alive.

For a long moment, the werewolf-masked man just looked at him. Blair met the imagined coldness of that gaze as unflinchingly as he could, struggling to keep his frantic breathing under control. He couldn't even imagine what was going through this man's mind, but he knew instinctively that it could not bode well for him.

Blair closed his eyes as the werewolf approached him. He steeled himself not to flinch when the cold barrel of the rifle pressed up against his temple.

"You're the cop's partner?" the werewolf asked softly.

Blair clenched his fists at his sides, trying to calm the terrified racing of his heart. He could feel a rivulet of sweat sliding down over the side of his face.

"No," he said after a moment. His voice shook. "Just a friend."

"A friend." The barrel of the gun moved slowly down the side of Blair's face, tracing the path of the droplet of sweat. "I watched the two of you come in here together. The way he held the door for you, the way you brushed past him when you walked inside. Interesting body language for a couple of friends, wouldn't you say."

Blair's stomach seemed to drop to the floor. A rush of cold adrenaline moved through him, increasing his already frantic heart rate. "I ... I don't know what you mean."

The werewolf chuckled. "It's okay, really. I won't tell." The gun moved down under the edge of Blair's jaw now, pressing upward slightly. Blair tipped his chin up reluctantly, hating the fact that he was still on his knees.

The bastard was still talking. "You are a pretty one, though, aren't you?" And now a hand moved to join the gun in its explorations, cool fingers sliding under Blair's jaw and stroking softly. Blair forced himself not to react, even though his every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to fight this unwanted intimacy, to claw and hit and beat this monster down to the ground. He couldn't stop shaking.

"There are always consequences for stupidity," the werewolf said, inexplicably. He sounded contemplative. Then, "Do you know what I want you to do?" His voice was soft. The fingers continued to stroke into the underside of Blair's jaw, encouraging his face to tilt upwards.

"Fuck you," Blair whispered. He could feel tears pricking at the backs of his closed eyelids, and he wrestled them back with a fury that was almost frightening in its intensity. He would not let this bastard see him cry. He trembled as the touch on his throat deepened, feeling a wash of ice-cold hatred spread under the surface of his skin, radiating outward from that one point of contact.

Another low chuckle. "So eager." Teasingly. "Do you really want to see these people die? Or your boyfriend? It doesn't have to be quick and clean, you realize."

Oh God, no. Blair clenched his jaw, hanging onto his composure with a fierce effort of will as he considered the quiet threat. This man would kill the hostages, would kill Jim, without a second thought. Why the fuck couldn't he just take the money he wanted and leave? Why did he have to latch onto Blair as some kind of sick and twisted form of entertainment as his cronies emptied the safes?

The answer came to Blair immediately as the bastard's earlier comment came back to him - it was revenge against Jim for attempting to stop the robbery. He wanted to give Jim's lover back to him in used condition, and let him live with the consequences. This man was very big on consequences.

Even as the horror of the reasoning sank into Blair's mind, he latched onto the elusive implication of it. If this bastard wanted Jim to live with the knowledge that his lover had been sullied, then he must mean to let Jim live. He wasn't going to kill them unless they provoked him. That was the one hope that Blair had, that in the end they might come out of this with their lives intact.

Blair slitted his eyes open, feeling a numbness wash through him. Fuck, but he was actually going to do this. His breathing sounded ragged in his ears, and the barrel of the gun was cold against his skin. It was pressing directly behind his left ear now.

"Pretty boy," the bastard said again, stroking down along the line of Blair's throat. His voice had lowered to a rough purr, and Blair could hear the smile in it. The voice softened still more, dropping nearly to a whisper. "Come on." Softly urging.

Fighting the nausea that twisted through his stomach, Blair raised shaking hands to the clasp of the man's jeans. He could barely feel his fingers, they were so numb.

It was a button fly. Blair kept his thoughts studiously blank as he worked at the recalcitrant buttons. If he stopped to let himself think about what he was doing, there was no way he would be able to go through with it. The thunder of his heartbeat was nearly deafening, but somehow he managed to work each of the buttons free from the dark denim that enclosed them.

God. This was insane. He was sweating now, and he could barely breathe. He felt dizzy, and he thought for a moment that he might pass out, but consciousness stubbornly remained. There was no way he would be able to do this.

The fingers had moved from his throat to the back of his neck, and they were massaging gently into his nape now, playing idly with the weight of hair that fell around his shoulders. The touch was disturbingly gentle, intimate in a way that Blair found summarily repulsive. He shuddered, resisting the impulse to buck the unwanted hand away, and fought to get his breathing under control.

"Come on, pretty boy." There was an edge of arousal to the voice now, unmistakable in its implications. "Don't tell me this isn't something you've done before." The gun nudged again behind his ear, gently.

Blair closed his eyes, silently hating. Hating. The floor felt hard under his knees. With shaking hands, he pulled open the fly in front of him and slid his hand inside. Shit, the bastard was hard as hell already. At least that made this somewhat easier. Just get it over with so the bastard would go away and leave him alone. Just get it over with. Don't think.

The scent of male arousal rose up around him as he peeled away the layer of thin boxers that separated him from his target. It gagged him, and he hesitated, irrationally terrified by the feel of soft skin and hard cock inside the circle of his hand. Fuck, why was this so difficult? It was just fucking. Just a blow job. And yes, it was something that he'd done numerous times before, in exactly this position. He was no virgin. But there was something horribly demeaning about this, that everything inside of him railed against with every painful breath he took. Never had he felt so fucking helpless. Never had he felt so much like a whore, like a thing to be used, and it infuriated him.

Holding on tightly to his fury, he plunged in to close his mouth over the cock in his hand. Just get it over with. Just get it over with so they could all go home, and put this experience behind them. Back home to their apartment, where he could cuddle up on the couch with Jim in front of the TV, where Jim could hold him, and touch his hair, and there were no fuck-starved bastards with guns threatening to kill innocent civilians if their wishes weren't obeyed.

The hand closed convulsively over the back of Blair's neck, fingers digging painfully into his skin. The breathing above him hitched loudly, then turned slow and rhythmic in unstated appreciation. Blair kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut and concentrated on what he was doing, using all of his experience to bring the bastard off as quickly as possible. Slick skin slid under his teeth and tongue, filling his mouth with the tang of sweat and sex. He was shaking violently, trying desperately to contain the tears that wanted to spill down over his cheeks.

A wordless groan issued from somewhere above him, and the hand at his nape moved up to cup the back of his head, silently ordering him to suck faster, harder. Blair obeyed the hand's urging without thinking, his thoughts going completely blank as he worked to fulfill this man's passions. What an obedient little whore he was. How docile. How perfectly pathetic.

In the last moments before the organ exploded into his mouth, Blair felt something snap within him. The tears broke free of his lashes at the exact instant the bitter liquid flooded over his tongue, and he gagged, choking on both his tears and the taste of the fluid in his mouth.

Before he could gather his wits enough to spit it out, a hand clamped under his chin, slamming his jaws shut with such force that his teeth clicked together, narrowly missing his tongue. A second hand fisted in the hair at the back of his head, forcing his head back, and he opened tear-filled eyes to gaze into the nightmare visage of wild red eyes and slavering jaws that bent over him. The mask, he thought hazily, fighting the urge to burst into hysteric laughter. Big bad wolf is comin' to getcha. I'll huff and I'll puff...

"Swallow it," the familiar, hated voice hissed in his ear.

Blair shut his eyes again, feeling faint. He thought he might be sick, but he swallowed convulsively, hating himself for doing it.

The hand around his jaw loosened, moved up to caress his cheek. "Good boy." The voice was purring again, filled with the heavy warmth of satiation.

This time Blair couldn't hold back the sob that ripped up from his chest, and he didn't react when he was shoved down to the floor. He landed hard, wincing at the pain of the impact, but he only curled in on his side and buried his head in his arms.

"Hey, what the fuck you doin', man?"

This was an unfamiliar voice, coming from the direction of the doorway. One of the werewolf's partners in crime. Blair had the sudden urge to tell everything - did the bastard's minions know he was gay, that he liked raping strangers in the middle of bankjobs? Even as the thought struck him, he realized that they would probably not even care. At worst, they would want to join in on the fun.

The thought made him shake even harder, and he curled even tighter into himself, hiding his face in his arms.

The werewolf laughed shortly. "Nothing." Blair heard footsteps retreating across the floor, but then they paused. "Let me have one of those."

The footsteps returned, and Blair tensed. A light hand touched the hair at the side of his head. "For services rendered, sweetheart," the low voice said, so softly that no one but the two of them could hear. Something light tickled across the skin of Blair's arm.

Then the footsteps left again. "What was that all about?" the voice at the door said, and the werewolf laughed again.

"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all."

Blair waited until he was sure they were gone before he opened his eyes. His heart was still racing like a runaway freight train inside his chest, hurting him with the strength of the blood pounding through his veins. It took him a moment to focus on the object sitting curled on the floor in front of him.

It was a crisp, freshly minted hundred dollar bill.

Blair closed his eyes and sobbed.

It was with a great deal of relief that Jim stepped in through the front door of their apartment later that day. He certainly hadn't intended to spend the first day of his vacation down at the station filling out paperwork on the latest Cascade bank robbery, or at the hospital getting the wound in his head looked after. Even so, he found that he couldn't be too upset about it - any crisis that ended with both him and his Guide in one piece couldn't be all bad.

Blair had been unusually reticent during the ride home from the hospital. There was something uncanny about the way the kid had stared out the truck window, not saying anything, but Jim had been reluctant to push him. It was a terrifying experience to be the victim of an armed robbery, and no matter his current involvement in Jim's rather exhilarating career, Blair was still young and all too inexperienced when it came to things like this. Despite the trauma that such vulnerability was obviously inflicting on him, Jim silently hoped that he would never lose it. If ever there came a day when Blair faced such incidents without flinching, Jim knew it would be time to turn in his badge and find a new career.

Heck, even he was having problems with this one. Just the memory of that gun pointed at Blair's head was enough to make his guts clench in remembered rage. And then waking up in the office with the other hostages, and realizing that Blair was not there. He'd been frantic. He had never felt relief like he did when Blair had come to free him from that claustrophobic little room, not even when he'd stumbled across the soldiers who had taken him out of the jungle all those years ago.

Jim cast a sideways glance at Blair as he moved into the kitchen to get them something to drink, just to reassure himself again that the kid was all right. Blair had wandered over to the couch in front of the TV and was sitting there now, staring out the window. Jim frowned, deciding that he truly did not like this silence that had fallen over his usually effusive young Guide.

"Thirsty?" he said, breaking into that silence as he returned to the living room. Blair looked up sharply, startled. Jim frowned again. "It's iced tea."

Smiling slightly, Blair took the glass from him and took a long sip. He leaned against the back of the couch and pulled his legs up in front of him, touching the cup to the side of his face and closing his eyes in pleasure at the feel of the chilled glass against his skin.

Jim sat beside him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, resting one arm along the top edge of the couch and touching Blair's shoulder lightly.

Blair glanced at him briefly and then returned his gaze to the window. "There's really nothing to talk about. I told you, they just wanted a hostage to keep in sight while they robbed the place, and I was the lucky one who got chosen for the job."

"Still, it must have been frightening." Jim massaged his fingers into Blair's shoulder lightly, wanting to pull the smaller man into his arms and hold him until all of these lingering fears faded away from him. For some reason, he hesitated to do so. Maybe it was the distance that still lurked in Blair's dark eyes.

Blair shrugged. "It wasn't fun, if that's what you mean."

Jim said nothing more for a moment. He took a long swallow of his iced tea, thinking. He had always been one to resist visiting the staff psychologist on duty at the station, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to make an appointment on Monday morning for Blair if things didn't improve. He couldn't help feeling that the younger man had been scarred by this encounter in ways that Jim couldn't even imagine, much less soothe. The thought frustrated him.

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon; at this time of year, night would be fast approaching. The setting sunlight was brassy, gilding the fixtures on the furniture as it spilled into the room. Blair seemed entranced by the way it played over the glass of the buildings outside, and his gaze was intent as he took it in. He looked like a man in the grip of a vision, or who was pondering memories that he would have preferred not to recall.

"Why won't you look at me?" Jim was tired of being subtle about the degree of his concern. This was not Blair, and it was frightening him. He slid his fingers up from Blair's shoulder to massage gently into the skin at his nape. The dark hair felt soft under his fingers.

As soon as Jim's fingers touched him, Blair wrenched his head away. Jim drew his hand back as if he'd been burned, staring at the younger man in utter shock. And now Blair did look at him, but there was a feral emotion in his eyes that made Jim's breath catch.

"I'm sorry," Jim whispered. "I didn't mean to-"

Instantly, the emotion in Blair's eyes disappeared, leaving them flat and eerily lifeless. He looked lost for a moment, but then he lifted one hand to rub at the back of his neck and smiled, looking slightly abashed. There was an edge to the expression, that seemed to cut inwards.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, with a note of forced amusement in his voice. "I'm sorry. I think I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"Yeah." Jim looked at him narrowly. "That it has."

Blair's eyes had slid away again, and now he took another long sip of his tea. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. I just need to get some sleep, and I'll be fine."

"Chief..." Jim let his voice trail off, silently asking that Blair not run away like this. He hated that this man was in pain, and he hated that he felt helpless to do anything about it.

"It's all right, Jim. Really. I just need to get some sleep." His eyes lingered briefly on Jim's, as if to disprove the accusation that he wouldn't meet his gaze, and then he turned to leave.

Jim let him go. He sat there, one arm lying across the top of the couch, the other hand balancing his glass on top of his thigh, where it steadily soaked a circle of moisture into the fabric of his jeans.

He wasn't used to feeling this kind of helplessness. He was used to the kinds of crises that occurred out in the field, where sometimes he might make the right decision, sometimes he might make the wrong one, but there were always choices to be made. He was completely out of his element here. He didn't know what to do. Something was eating away at Blair from the inside out, and Jim didn't have the faintest clue what it might be.

It was obvious that Blair had suffered more than simply being forced to stand in the sights of an automatic rifle while his captors emptied a safe. Which would be traumatic enough for anybody, but Jim sensed instinctively that more had gone on than Blair had confided in him.

He thought again of Blair's reaction when he had tried to soothe him. The vehemence with which he had pulled away, the wild emotion that raged to rabid life in his eyes. The ... fear.

Blair had not wanted to be touched.

"Fuck," Jim said aloud, letting his head drop back against the top of the sofa. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The signals were obvious now that he thought to look for them. He'd been in the business of law enforcement for too long not to know the atrocities that men were capable of, but it still soured his stomach to think of it happening to Blair. How on earth had he failed to even consider the possibility?

"Why didn't you tell me, Chief?" he sighed, knuckling tiredly at his eyes. He felt suddenly as if he were a hundred years old.

Suddenly he was struck with the image of the robber in the werewolf mask, his rifle pointed unwaveringly at Blair. Put the gun down or I'll kill him. Blair's eyes had been huge, terrified, as he looked up from his position on the floor. Jim had been able to read his expression perfectly, as clearly as if they had been linked telepathically at that moment - Oh God, oh God, please, I don't want to die...

Nausea twisted through Jim's stomach as the full implications of the memory hit him. He had attempted to intervene in the robbery, and in retribution, they had raped Blair. Had it been just the one, or all of them? Oh, God. His relationship with Blair must have been obvious to anyone less than half-blind who had been paying any attention to them. They had both been so happy, so relieved to be beginning their vacation together after such a hellish week, and they had never been less than comfortable in the way they felt about each other. They generally tried to tone it down in public - no sense going out and looking for trouble - but they'd been so happy that morning. What had given them away? Was it the way they'd touched? Or the way Blair had looked at him? Hell, sometimes when Jim looked into those beautiful dark eyes he'd get lost there.

Jim felt the guilt tear through him like venomous claws. My fault. If he hadn't been stupid enough to try to stop the robbery single-handed, none of this would have happened. It was obvious that the robbers knew the difference between robbery and homicide in the eyes of the police; they knew better than to kill anyone and have the entire city up in arms against them. Simple robberies without casualties tended to get brushed aside in favor of more serious crimes - it was a sad fact, but true, as there were only so many detectives on the police force to go around. No one would have gotten hurt if only Jim had been able to keep from interfering.

But of course he hadn't known that at the time. He couldn't in conscience have done anything differently. Assuming that any kind of criminal mind would behave rationally was absolute folly.

Not to mention that he'd been unconscious when they locked him up - there was no way he could have protected Blair, even if he'd known. No way in hell.

It didn't help his conscience any. Either then, or now.

Fighting down the guilt and rage that twisted through him, he stood and set his drink aside. He couldn't leave Blair to deal with this alone.

Feeling grim, he moved toward the stairs.

Blair retreated upstairs to the loft and moved immediately to the large bed. He realized with some disgruntlement that his hands were shaking, but he only crossed his arms over his chest as he perched on the edge of the mattress and sat glaring angrily down at the floor.

"Get a grip, Blair," he muttered, feeling vaguely amused that he would be sitting here alone, talking to himself.

Whatever had possessed him to run out on Jim like that? This was no way to convince the man he loved that everything was fine. And everything was fine. Wasn't it? He and Jim had both gotten through the robbery alive. Alive and whole, without either of them getting shot or worse. Any day that saw neither of them killed was a good day.

So why did he feel so shitty?

Making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, he toed off his shoes and laid back on the bed, stretching out on his side. He was fine. Perfectly fine. There was absolutely nothing at all in the world that was wrong with him.

He lay there staring at the wall for several minutes before he heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs of the loft.

Of course Jim would be coming up to check on him - he was so conscientious that way. Blair closed his eyes on a sigh. Not to mention the fact that Jim lived here, and had been sharing a bed with him for the past four months. He was in all likelihood just coming to bed. He was tired; he'd had a rough day. Surely he would just want to go to sleep, like any normal person would after a day like this.

The footsteps stopped at the landing, and Blair had to force himself not to twitch under the imagined observation. He could practically feel Jim's eyes boring into the fabric of the T-shirt between his shoulder blades. It made him irrationally angry for a moment - what exactly did Jim think he was doing just standing there like that, anyway? - but then he forced the emotion down. It was a stupid thing to get angry about, and he suspected that it really wasn't Jim he was feeling mad at right now.

"Hey, Chief." Jim's voice was soft. He came into the room with slow steps and sat lightly on the edge of the bed. One hand tentatively moved to rest on Blair's shoulder, as if he was afraid that Blair might try to pull away from him.

Blair forced himself not to pull away. "I'm awake," he said, realizing how ridiculous it would be to pretend otherwise.

He heard Jim take in a deep breath and then let it out forcefully through his nose. "I really think we should talk about what happened today."

Shit, why couldn't the man just leave him alone? Why did he have to turn into a fucking psychologist all of a sudden?

"I'm just tired," he said, letting the irritation he felt creep into his voice.

Jim sighed again, and his thumb stroked lightly into the muscles of Blair's arm. For a long moment he didn't say anything further, but then he drew in a breath as if to prepare himself for something unpleasant. "What did they do to you?" he asked, so quietly that the words were almost inaudible.

Blair froze. All at once, the words ripped across his mind - he knows - and his heartbeat sped inside his chest as remembered fear came crashing in on him, stealing his breath away. He could barely breathe, and for a moment he just concentrated on sucking in air, slowly, one breath after another.

After a few moments, he felt he had his equilibrium well enough in hand where he could say, "Somehow I get the feeling I don't need to answer that question."

He imagined Jim would have winced at that. Suddenly, Blair desperately wanted to roll over and see the love that was doubtlessly shining in his lover's eyes, wanted to feel Jim's arms around him as he curled in against his chest, and let Jim stroke away the fear and shame that threatened to eat him alive. Jim would hold him all night long if he asked him to; there was no reason at all for him to face this alone.

He didn't move. Jim's hand on his shoulder felt suddenly too hot and too heavy to bear, and he shrugged out from under it.

"I'm sorry." Jim's voice was rough. He paused to take another long breath and then said again, "I'm sorry, Blair. I never thought that anything like this would happen to you."

"I'm fine, Jim," Blair said, not knowing why he bothered because it was so obviously not true.

He heard Jim laugh shortly, but there was no humor in it. A few more tense moments passed before he asked, "Did they hurt you?"

What an odd question. Blair had been to the hospital too, hadn't he? The hospital staff hadn't found anything to complain about with regards to his physical condition. But he knew what Jim was really asking.

"He didn't fuck me, if that's what you mean."

There was silence behind him for a moment as Jim absorbed this information. Then, "What did happen, then?"

For a moment Blair considered lying, just to make Jim leave him alone, but he knew instinctively that it wouldn't work. In addition to that, he didn't truly want to lie to this man, about anything. Ever. He supposed that must be true love, when you're willing to share your deepest darkest secrets with a man. No matter how annoying that man could be when he was in pursuit of answers that he wanted.

Blair sighed heavily, feeling the tension drain out of him. The numbness was back again, and he was almost grateful for it. "Nothing much," he said just a little too flippantly, inwardly cringing from the words as he said them. "He just held a gun to my head and told me he'd kill you, and all of the other hostages, if I didn't suck him off. Oh, and then he paid me afterwards. One hundred dollars."

The silence in the air was palpable after that. After several moments had passed, Jim said again, "I'm sorry, Blair."

Blair felt a vicious twist of something suspiciously like glee when he heard the pain in his lover's voice. It didn't seem right that he should be happy that Jim was hurting, but he felt that way nonetheless. Frantically, he tried to get a handle on his emotions, which had skittered far beyond his control the moment Jim had walked into the room.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," he admitted quietly. The words made him feel even more wretched, and he curled in on himself, fighting the urge to start doing something stupid, like crying.

Another moment slipped silently by before Jim said, "I'd imagine you're feeling pretty pissed off at me right now, and with good reason."

That made Blair turn around, his eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected declaration. "Why on earth would I be angry at you?" he said, meeting Jim's gaze squarely. Those normally intent blue eyes were half-lidded now and clouded with pain.

Jim smiled tightly. "Isn't it obvious?" He reached out and touched a curl of Blair's hair, then dropped his hand back into his lap. "I had to run off and play boy hero when anyone with half a brain would have been able to figure out how much you mean to me. It was the perfect revenge, Blair. By doing what he did to you, the bastard was hurting the both of us."

Blair felt his eyes narrow at the quietly voiced evaluation. This was absolutely ridiculous, and he wasn't sure why he was letting Jim rant on about it. It hadn't been Jim's fault that things had turned out the way they had, even if Blair had come to the exact same conclusion within the privacy of his mind just a short while ago. It hadn't been Jim's fault at all. After all, it had been he, Blair Sandburg, who had gotten down on his knees like a back alley whore and sucked the cock of the man who had been holding his lover hostage. His lover, who with his own rash actions had brought the attention of the bastard down on them to begin with.

"Why couldn't you just have left well enough alone?" Blair whispered, pushing his hair back out of his face with one hand and propping himself up on one elbow against the pillows. He gazed up into Jim's face with a stricken expression, feeling the agony he felt welling up in his eyes. "Why couldn't you have just let them do what they came there to do? No one had to get hurt. All they wanted was the money."

Jim looked away and ran a hand over his face. "It's not that black and white, Blair. I'm a cop. And we didn't know that they weren't planning on hurting anybody."

Blair dropped his eyes to the mattress, biting back an angry retort. He didn't like feeling so out of control, and he didn't like feeling so angry over something that his rational mind knew perfectly well wasn't Jim's fault. This entire situation was absurd.

He let his breath out in a long sigh and laid back against the pillows, gazing up at Jim. He considered the pained visage above him for a moment and then said, "I do hope that you're not blaming yourself for this."

This time when Jim looked at him, Blair read the truth in his eyes. Instantly, Blair felt the rage return, only now it wasn't directed against his lover.

"You realize that if we let this come between us, if we let it pull us apart, then he'll have won." Blair couldn't keep his voice from shaking slightly when he said it. "The bastard wins if we don't find a way to deal with this. You understand that, right?"

Jim smiled slightly and reached out to touch Blair's cheek, lightly tracing the line of his jaw with the tips of two fingers. "You always have been the brains of the outfit, Chief." He drew in one more deep, shuddering breath, and then let it go. "You're right. We're not going to let the bastard win."

Blair returned the smile and nuzzled into Jim's hand, closing his eyes at the feel of the warm palm sliding over his skin. Almost unconsciously, the tip of his tongue snaked out to moisten the pad of Jim's finger. That finger hovered over his lips for a moment, brushing softly over the sensitive skin.

"You know I love you," Jim said quietly, and there was a depth of emotion in the simple words that made Blair tremble inside.

"I know," Blair replied. His eyes remained closed as he leaned in against Jim's chest, and Jim's arm slid around behind him, fingers tangling in his long hair.

"It wasn't your fault, either," Jim said, easing closer so that Blair could snuggle more effectively against him. He continued to play with the soft curls of the other man's hair, keeping his movements slow and gentle. "Tell me you're not blaming yourself, Blair."

Blair nuzzled deeper in against Jim's chest, saying nothing in reply. How could he possibly explain what it had felt like to go through that kind of experience, to feel so utterly used and humiliated, and then to be paid for it afterward? To not even know while he was doing it if he or Jim would be left alive when it was over, despite the promises he had been given?

"Blair." And now Jim's voice took on a sterner tone. "You were raped. You didn't ask for it. You didn't want it."

"I didn't do anything to stop it." Where had that come from? He just seemed to be spouting nonsense all over the place today.

"You had a gun to your head." Jim sounded exasperated. "You were victimized. It was wrong, it was horrible, it should never have happened, but it was not your fault."

Blair let his breath out in a long sigh. "I know that, Jim. Inside, I know. It's just that I can't help feeling ... ashamed." This would have been impossible to talk about if he'd had to look into Jim's face as he said it. He buried his face even further into the hard warmth of his lover's chest and drew comfort from the arms that tightened around him. "I can't help feeling that there's something I should have done. Or something..." His voice trailed off.

"Something that I should have done." Jim's voice was soft.

Blair said nothing. It was irrational, but there was no use denying it.

They lay there together for several minutes, and Blair let his thoughts drift. This was exactly where he wanted to be, here inside the circle of Jim's arms in their bed together. It felt so right, so familiar, and he truly did love this man more than life itself, despite all of the conflicting emotions that were raging inside of him.

"I love you," he said after a moment, just needing to hear the words aloud.

Jim pulled back slightly at that and touched him lightly under the chin, gently urging Blair's face up to look at him. "I love you, too," he said seriously, meeting Blair's gaze steadily.

Blair shivered. "Would you kiss me?" Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he regretted saying them. There was no reason to test this now, not when he was so comfortable and warm and almost feeling safe again. Because it was entirely possible that Jim wouldn't want to kiss him. Not after what he'd done. In his heart he knew how utterly irrational such a thought was - Jim loved him, had said he still loved him - but still the fears remained.

Jim's fingers trailed over the side of Blair's face again, drawing forth more uncontrollable shivers. His other hand smoothed over the younger man's back, trying to calm him. With the uncanny perception that had existed between them since nearly their first meeting, he responded immediately to the thoughts that Blair could not give voice to.

The kiss that fell onto Blair's parted lips was warm, and soft, and full of tender exhalation. Blair felt his lips move slightly underneath it, and his eyes closed, his lashes tickling his cheeks as he gave himself over to the kiss. There was something deliciously unique about the taste of this man that he could never get enough of, something that sparked a chord in him of deep and abiding happiness, of family, of home. Rapture, as their tongues met in tentative introduction, Jim's hesitant in a way that Blair had seldom experienced as he tested the boundaries that Blair might choose to erect between them. It would be entirely natural if Blair were to feel repulsed by this kind of intimacy, after what he'd been through.

But, strangely enough, he found himself craving it. Blair deepened the kiss without thinking, growling low in his throat when Jim hesitated to respond. He wasn't as fragile as all that; he wasn't going to break if they shared this degree of affection. And he needed this contact between them, needed it in a way that he seldom had before. He needed to feel loved, to feel as if he were someone to be cherished, as only Jim could make him feel.

Jim responded to the unvoiced plea without a word needing to be spoken between them. Their eyes met - briefly, explosively - and then Jim's hands were smoothing down Blair's sides, lifting up the sides of his T-shirt and burrowing underneath until they'd found warm skin. Blair arched against him, losing himself in the touch of those familiar and beloved hands, as his own hands fumbled their way to the clasp of Jim's jeans.

"Blair," Jim groaned, rubbing his head up against the side of the younger man's face, his hips undulating gently as Blair's long fingers cupped over the hardening flesh between his legs, massaging him gently through the fabric of his pants. Blair smiled slightly to himself at the way his lover's breath hitched under his touch.

As was usual when they made love together, there was very little conversation between them. Lovemaking was a feast of sensation, experienced through the realm of scent, and sound, and touch. Blair touched Jim and Jim responded, and then he was touched in return. It was an exploration, much as it had been the first time they had lain together, all those months ago when Blair had crawled uninvited into his roommate's bed and pleaded his silent argument for Jim to no longer deny the attraction that had sprung up between them. That had been a night of discovery for the both of them, a silent conversation spoken only by their bodies as they moved and twined together in the darkness of their room.

Blair gasped as Jim's hands moved over him with practiced precision, drawing out a chorus of low moans that panted out between his teeth with every breath he took. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the ecstasy of the lips that latched possessively over the skin of his throat, tingling in shards of liquid pleasure as they drew the blood rushing to the surface of his skin. God, there was going to be a mark there tomorrow, where everyone in the world could see. Marked, branded, and claimed. Blair groaned aloud, his hands clawing at Jim's broad back in mindless encouragement - yes, more - and arched his hips forward, silently begging for more contact, more sensation, more affirmation of the love that flowed and sparked between them.

Jim's hand slid down the back of Blair's opened jeans, fingers molding tightly over the skin of his ass. Blair bucked forward with a low cry as a blunt finger pushed against his opening - oh, yes! - and gasped again as his exposed cock brushed up against Jim's, an explosion of light igniting behind his tightly closed eyelids. His hands moved down to Jim's ass, massaging deeply through the thick denim, and pulled that body tightly against him, grinding his hips forward to press their cocks even more tightly together.

Ecstasy. Blair groped blindly for Jim's mouth with his own, found it, and moaned deeply as the other man's tongue stroked into him. No hesitation now; just raw, primal lust, and a desperate need to find a connection amongst the emotional turmoil that enveloped them. Blair moved his hips desperately, sucking Jim's tongue even further into his mouth, feeling the familiar tightness begin to gather in his balls and tingle down the insides of his thighs. He keened softly, needing this release with every fiber of his being, and Jim cradled Blair's head in against his shoulder, stroking his hair and telling him in nonsensical phrases that it was okay, that he was here with him, and he should just let it all go...

Blair threw his head back with a ragged shout as the orgasm ripped through him, burning up the length of his spine until it impacted with the base of his skull. His hands clenched spasmodically over Jim's shoulders, and his hips continued to pump with a life of their own, spilling out his fury and his passion and his bitter self-hatred in one all-consuming rush of ecstasy. Jim's teeth bit into his shoulder with a muffled cry as the other man found his own release, and Blair clung to him, reveling in the hot splash of passion that flooded across his stomach, soaking into the fabric of his shirt and jeans.

He lay there without moving for a long while after it was over, grateful all over again for the arms that held him, the warm body that curled against his side, and the fingers that stroked idly over the ends of his hair in their familiar slow, hypnotic rhythm. His head was pillowed on Jim's chest, and he could hear the other man's heartbeat, which was slowing gradually from its former wild cadence.

This was bliss. This was ecstasy, and nothing at all in the world was going to take this away from him. Somehow, he was going to find a way to deal with the turbulent emotions that the attack had awakened inside of him, the fear and the rage and the abiding sense of shame that had taken root inside his soul. He would do it, and they would get through this, because Jim was here with him, and Jim loved him, and would help him see it through.

Breathing out heavily, Blair curled in closer against Jim's side, and smiled.

It was tempting to just let them lie like this till morning, but Jim knew from old experience that it would be a mistake to do so. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Blair's embrace, soothing the discontented murmurs this caused with soft kisses and gentle touches, and carefully began to peel away their soiled clothes. It probably would have been a better idea to at least get out of their pants before attempting to reaffirm their love for each other in this way, but at the time any potential detriments to an easy clean-up had been very far from his mind. Jim grinned softly to himself in memory as he wiped them both as clean as possible with a wadded up T-shirt, which he then tossed aside onto the floor. Any further clean-up could wait till morning.

Blair looked like an angel as Jim returned to his place in the bed beside him, warm bronzed skin spread over smooth muscles, dark hair billowed out across the pillow in a shadowed cloud, slitted dark eyes a vision of sated ecstasy as they gazed up at him. Beautiful, Jim couldn't help but think as he stretched out beside his lover's body and pulled the blankets up over them to keep away the cold. Beautiful, and loved, and mine. Blair immediately rolled against him, like a green plant seeking the light of the sun.

"Monday morning we make an appointment with the staff psychologist," Jim said firmly, tucking Blair's head in against the crook of his arm and kissing him on the side of the face. "And we're going to talk about this. We'll talk about the anger that you feel toward me, and the anger I feel toward myself. And this ridiculous humiliation you seem to feel, like it's your fault you were raped."

Blair was obviously unhappy with the pronouncement. The skin between his brows was furrowed when he twisted to gaze up into Jim's eyes. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes." Jim was firm. "You mean too much to me to let this go, Blair. Pretending it didn't happen isn't going to solve anything. We're going to have to deal with it."

For a moment, it seemed as if Blair would argue further, but then he relaxed against Jim's side with a sigh. His hand found Jim's under the blankets and threaded their fingers together.

"I love you," he whispered.

Jim felt his chest constrict at the softly voiced endearment, and his fingers tightened around Blair's hand. "I love you, too," he whispered back, and he slid his other arm more firmly around Blair's shoulders, holding the smaller man's body tightly against him. He nuzzled deep into his lover's hair and inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Blair.

Blair, his innocent one, his cherub, who was no longer quite so innocent. Every moment he spent in Jim's company darkened him further, as it pulled him further and further into the world of depravity that Jim called his home. Was it fair to subject Blair to this, day after day? He was an anthropology student, not a cop. What gave Jim the right to put him at risk this way, simply because he'd come to the conclusion that he was no longer capable of living without him? That he in fact wondered how on earth he had ever survived before they'd met?

But Blair was right. To give into these fears, to let this incident pull the two of them apart, would be the greatest mistake that either of them could make. What they had together was something beautiful, something untouched by even this latest ordeal. They loved each other, and no matter what else the world chose to bring against them, they would always have that. To give it up would be to let all the nefarious bastards of the world win.

And that was something Jim would not do.

"You'll hold me all night, won't you?" Blair asked, sounding sleepy. His eyes were dark and strangely luminescent as they gazed half-lidded up at Jim.

Jim smiled and bent to kiss that half-parted mouth. "All night," he promised, and he was rewarded by the slow smile that spread beneath his lips. When he pulled back again, Blair's eyes were closed.

"I love you," Jim whispered, not sure if Blair heard him or not. He couldn't resist the urge to gently push the hair back, one more time, away from the younger man's face. It comforted him that after everything that had happened today, Blair still felt safe enough to fall asleep inside his embrace.

Carefully tightening his grip around the fractured angel in his arms, Jim settled his head back against the pillow and prepared to hold his steady vigil against the dawn.

The End.
11/13/00