Bad Scene

Blair slowly walked up the stairs to the third floor, the elevator out of order for the third time in five days.  If he didn't hurt so badly, he would be making some dumb ass comment about why have an elevator in the first place. But he hurt and had other matters, serious matters, to deal with.

He stopped at the top of the stairs now thinking ahead.  If Jim was home, he would know something was wrong. 

Blinking, the door to their apartment opened.  Jim came out looking at Blair. 

This was so not good for him.  What walls, barriers he held up on his way home started to crumble.  With a low whisper, he called out, "Jim."

Jim was by his side.  Taking a hold of him by his waist, he helped him to their apartment.

"What happened?" Jim asked quietly.  He was mad, furious, that Blair hadn't called him but at the moment he had to keep that back.

Taking a few breaths to keep the panic attack down, it chose now to happen, Blair couldn't get anything out of his mouth at the moment. 

Seeing the signs of the attack, Jim led Blair to the couch and went to the kitchen for a paper bag.  Returning, Jim was cataloging all the scents that he was finding on his roommate: alcohol, semen, cigarette smoke, and blood rafted off his friend.

Handing Blair the paper bag, he started breathing into it.  Jim sat beside him and touched his back, wanting to stroke it, to ease the tension, but Blair moved away from him, shaking his head.

Blair had never done that before.  "Okay I won't touch your back.  Let me sense okay?"  Blair kept breathing in the bag as Jim let his hands roam above Blair's clothes.  Heat poured off his back.  Jim questioned to himself, welts?

Blair's breathing returned to a somewhat regular candice, but he still looked shyly, looking down on the floor than looking at Jim.

"What happened?" Jim repeated the question.

"A bad scene," Blair gulped out.  "I'm sorry. I went with a friend I dated a few times and then got caught up and I couldn't get out man."  Blair stood up and looked like the deer about to be run over by a car. "Somehow I was feeling real good, you know nothing could be felt type of good, then found myself in the company of one of the Masters.  I don't know what happened till I was ..."  Blair stopped and was walking backwards and ran into the wall.

Jim stood up and approached him slowly.  Blair was not looking well and was going into shock.  Jim counted to five slowly and when he hit five, Blair turned green. 

Both of them moved quickly to the bathroom.  The seat was already up when Blair started heaving.  Holding Blair as he wretched was not easy.  The trembling of his limbs were insistent. 

Blair settled into the dry heaves after expelling what he had consumed the last few hours. Jim pulled him back and sat him on the floor.  Flushing the contents of the toilet then find a cup to find some water and a washcloth and helped clean up Blair. 

Helping him out of the bathroom he brought him back to the couch.

"Your hurting chief.  Let me help you." Jim whispered.

Blair nodded and tried to unbutton his flannel shirt.  Jim took over the duty and unbuttoned the shirt.  Blair let it slip away from his shoulders with help from Jim.    He tried to raise the t-shirt over his head, but sucked him breath when his back protested.  Jim went before him, kneeling.  "Let me."  Lifting up the shirt, up and over Blair's head.  "Let me see."  Blair half scouted to show his back to Jim.  Welts crisscrossed, some had shown blood.  The strikes went down into his jeans.

Jim was nervous for Blair when he said we was meeting with friends.  Blair liked scenes.  And he normally stayed within his group of friends but this, this was out of control.

"Come on, upstairs."  He helped him up and to the stairs to take Blair up to the loft.

Once at the foot of the bed, Jim started working the button fly of the black jeans.  Finding that Blair had gone 'commando', didn't surprise Jim.  Quick to take action, Blair preferred to have less items between him and his objective.

Jim stooped to get the shoes, socks and jeans off Blair.  Blair stood before Jim looking more like a child than a man.  Tears came to Blair's eyes.  Blair had no defenses left in him.

Jim stood and had Blair look at him, raising his chin to look.  "Lay down on your stomach and I'll see what I can do about your back."

Blair nodded then moved to lie on the bed. 

Jim turned back and headed down the stairs.  Finding a few things that he needed: two bottles of water from the fridge, the first aid kit, a bowl of water and a washcloth.  He returned to the loft.  Turning on the small lamp on the nightstand.  He set to work on cleaning and applying needed first aid.


Blair hissed as Jim started to wash off his back.  Clutching the pillow he buried his face.  Jim did his best to be careful, dabbing along the lines that had bled to see the damage.  Then he brought the antiseptic to the wounds.  Along his back and both cheeks.    Jim's gaze traveled to Blair's wrists, he had to be tied to something to be still long enough.  Blair's wrists sported a two-inch bruising, he must of did his best to pull out of the restraints.

"Blair?" Jim asked.

Blair turned on to his side looking at Jim.

"Who did this?"

"Master.  I was in his audience and must have done something wrong.  I don't know, I can't remember.  I found myself in the rack.  I was whipped twenty times.  I tried to pull out of the cuffs, but they were on tight.  I tried to get out but no one would listen, no one came to my defense."

Jim had talked to him about the clubs, and noting who you could trust and not trust.  Blair was to trusting.

"Think you can get some sleep?"

Blair blinked and nodded his head then spoke, "If .."

"If what?"

"Can I stay here?"

"Sure Chief."

Blair reached out his hand to touch Jim.  "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"We take care of each other. Just close your eyes and I'll be here." Jim stood up to discard his clothes, leaving his boxer shorts on.  Pulling up the sheet and comforter, he crawled under the sheets and pulled Blair to cuddle him.

He may not be able to dissuade Blair from his bad habits; at least he could be there to put him back together.
 

@ 2005 Tommy Boy fan fiction * design and content by Paula C. *