Archive of Our Own ^beta

Blair gave himself the once-over in the mirror and decided he looked presentable enough. Living in his office and showering in the gym wasn't ideal, but it was accommodations until he could raise the money to find another place. That's why he was going on this date tonight. He usually didn't accept referrals from anyone but friends, but this was an emergency, and the client who had made the referral was a good enough guy.

He made his way through the lobby of the downtown Hilton, unmindful of the extravagance of the decor or the people peppering the lobby. Normally, his anthropologist's mind would've been observing and cataloguing, but since the fight with Jim two days ago, Blair wasn't up to noticing much of anything. It was like a switch had been turned off inside him, and all he saw now was grey where color had been. Blair supposed he'd get over it; after all, he'd left more places than he could remember. For now, he looked straight ahead and kept his mind on the $200 he would make tonight.

The elevator deposited him on the fifth floor, and he located room 505. He could hear laughter and a loud television, so he rapped hard on the door.

The man who answered was in his mid-thirties, tall, and stocky in a way that would undoubtably run to fat as he entered his forties. He squinted drunkenly at Blair. "You must be the entertainment," he smirked. "C'mon in."

Blair knew the minute he walked in that this scene was trouble. A small pile of white powder sat side by side with several empty bottles of liquor, and the three men who lounged around the table were clearly gone. The looked up as Blair entered and started making catcalls and whistles.

Blair shook his head. "I don't do groups," he said to the man who had answered the door. "And I don't do drugs. Sorry." He turned to leave.

The man grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute, honey," he slurred. "Just hang on. We pay well." He ran a hand down Blair's leg and groped unsteadily at his crotch.

Blair pulled away in disgust. "Sorry," he said again.

The man moved to stand in front of the door, blocking his exit. "Stay put, sweetcheeks. We bought you for the night, didn't we, boys?"

His friends yelled their agreement, and the man nodded. "Yes, we surely did. You'll stay and you'll do what we want." He grabbed for Blair, but Blair had the advantage of being younger and faster. He buttonhooked to the side, and almost made it out the door before the man wrapped a rough arm around his waist and pulled him back. "We have a fighter here, boys," he grinned.

"Asshole," Blair snapped, and whipped the palm of his hand into the man's nose.

Blood poured from the nose, and the man howled and let go. Blair made for the door again, but was dragged back into the room by the three other men. He tried to scream, but someone clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Bitch!" the man with the broken nose snarled. He backhanded Blair across the face. "You need to learn some manners, little boy. Hold him!" The man's hand flashed out again, closed this time, and slammed up against Blair's face. Blair felt pain explode through his cheek as the impact rocked his head back.

Blair struggled against the hands holding him, but they were too many. Angry hands fumbled with his jeans, pulling them down around his ankles in spite of his wiggles.

"He's a beauty!" one man whistled admiringly. "Don't see many whores with an ass like that." He squeezed Blair's bottom roughly, as if inspecting meat instead of a human being.

"Question is," another said, "who gets him first?"

Broken Nose raised his hand. "I do, since I'm the one who got hurt. And believe me, little boy," he pinched Blair's nipple hard enough to make it go numb,"I'm gonna take it out in trade." He gestured to the others. "Throw him down there and hold him down."

Blair was forced to the floor by three pair of hands. He thrashed wildly, but his legs were spread apart and both of his ankles held firmly. He could see Broken Nose undressing, almost ripping his own clothes off in anticipation. He tried to scream, but was bashed in the face, and the hand across his mouth tightened painfully.

Broken Nose knelt between Blair's legs, dick in hand. "You'll wish you'd been more polite, sweetie," he sneered. He poised himself at Blair's opening and thrust suddenly.

Blair screamed as the pain of being entered without lubrication seared through his body. It was worse than anything he'd ever felt, and he willed himself to pass out. He felt the man above him thrust wildly, without care or gentleness. I will not cry Blair told himself as the tears threatened. *I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.* He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for it to end.

Sometime later, the man pulled out. Blair felt the dick, now gone soft and slippery with his blood, slide out of his body, along with something else. For a moment he didn't understand; then he realized the man had worn a condom. He had always insisted on them, but in his pain-fogged state, he didn't much care.

"You broke him in, Randy!" one of the men giggled.

"Just paving the way, my friend," Randy said easily, and gestured toward Blair. "You're up."

Blair moaned softly and bit his lip to keep from crying out as he felt another erection push into him. Even with the lubrication provided by blood and semen, the crude thrusts were agony to his violated body. Unable to help himself, Blair cried out against the hand clamped across his mouth.

"That's it, bitch," the man inside him panted. "Scream for me, whore." He bit down savagely on Blair exposed shoulder, drawing blood.

The next few hours took on the slow motion quality of nightmares. Again and again, Blair was raped, slapped, bitten, scratched, and humiliated in every way possible. He clenched his fists and endured it in silence, dimly proud of himself for preserving at least that much of his dignity. Finally, abruptly as it had started, the torment ended. The last man pulled his pants back on, and Blair was pulled to his feet.

Blair stood unsteadily, and tried to cover himself. Instead of sympathy, this provoked snorts of derisive laughter. "Pull his pants up," Randy said. "We can't have him walking around like this."

Blair allowed someone to dress him. He was so numb mentally and agonized physically that he couldn't have reacted if he'd wanted to. He was only dully aware of being half-carried to the service elevator and tossed out into the deserted street by his car.

Randy casually chucked a wad of bills at him. "Come back if you ever want to tango again."

"Fuck you," Blair tried to scream, but it came out a hoarse whisper. He pulled himself up using his car as support, and managed to make his way to the drivers' side. He wrenched open the door and sat heavily, then moaned. Movement hurt, but sitting on his tortured bottom was agony. He sucked it up and started the car.

He automatically started toward home, to the loft, but his dazed mind reminded him that the loft was no longer his home, and Jim was no longer his friend. If Blair went running to Jim, the detective would point out that it was all his fault, and he would be right. Jim would say that anyone who has sex with a stranger deserves what he gets, and that would be right, too. Still, Blair longed for the steady presence of his ex-partner.

*Stupid!* Blair berated himself. *You think you'd get sympathy from Jim after what he called you? You'd be lucky if you didn't get another ass-kicking*

Blair found himself back at the university. He blacked out from the pain and loss of blood, and had no memory of how he'd gotten himself to his office, but somehow he was lying on the floor by his desk, his backpack under his head. He could feel warm blood and semen drying on his thighs. Shamed, Blair knew he should clean himself up, but he was too weak and sick with shock, so he lay as still as possible, barely breathing so as not to rouse the pain tearing at his insides. Finally, the tears came. Suffering and broken, Blair cried alone on the cold floor.

"Jim!" he sobbed, half-delirious. "Jim, please help me."