Title: Whatever it takes

Author: Britta Baur

Fandom: 24

Characters: Jack Bauer, Ramon Salazar, some bodyguards

Pairing: well, you'll have to read it

Category: Drama

Rating: NC-17, non-con

Timeline: Set approximately three month before Season 3

Spoiler: Definitely, for Season 3 and Season 2

Summary. Would spoil the fun...

Disclaimer: Nothings mine, no money comes out of this, yadda, yadda, yadda

Feedback: Very welcome

Whatever It Takes
by Britta Baur

„Hold him," Salazar said pleasantly enough and a second or so later he was grabbed on both sides by Salazar's muscles. He tried to yank free of their grip immediately and unsuccessfully but hadn't tried very hard either. He wasn't supposed to be that well trained, he remembered.

He directed a menacing glare towards Salazar as the man slowly approached him with a sardonic little smile on his face. Jack pulled once more but Eric and Dante (or Andre?) were simply too strong, each holding one of his arms behind his back, almost lifting him off his feet with their combined strength. He realized he probably wouldn't be able to break free even *if* he used the full range of his Special Forces training. Not good, not good at all.

Ramon Salazar had reached him now, his face only inches from Jack's, the smile as unnerving as ever. Salazar raised his left hand and Jack flinched forcefully despite himself, expecting a blow. But the hand came to rest against his right cheek with surprising gentleness, the thumb slowly stroking up and down under his cheekbone.

"Always so full of anger, Jack, so full of wrath."

Jack, not yet ready to blow his cover, spat, "What's this about, Ramon? You still don't trust me?" His shoulders began to hurt in earnest now, the grip of the two bodyguards becoming more and more painful.

"Only as much as you trust me, Jacky-boy," Salazar answered cryptically. He leaned in even closer and Jack knew what to expect when the hand that had been stroking his cheek moved around his head, holding it steady. He smelled expensive Scottish Whiskey and equally expensive Cuban cigars in Salazar's breath before his lips touched his.

Jack closed his eyes, trying to block out the feeling of Salazar's beard tickling the area around his mouth but damn it wasn't easy. Salazar's lips tasted like his breath had smelled. Not unpleasant but merely alien to Jack who had never kissed a man before.

Salazar increased the pressure on Jack's lips, urging him to open his mouth to his probing tongue but naturally he refused to comply, keeping his lips shut tight. Salazar withdrew with a throaty chuckle and only now did Jack open his eyes again. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore his almost painfully cramping stomach that tried to tell him it knew what was coming next.

This definitely wasn't happening.

Ramon's warm, strong hand resumed its previous stroking motions but this time Jack had none of it. He jerked his head away violently and felt a rush of grim satisfaction when he heard Dante (or Andre?) grunt when his head banged hard into the side of Dante's (or Andre's?) chin. But his grip didn't loosen.

Jack laid the full force of his anger in his voice. "Ramon, stop it! What the hell are you doing?"

"You betrayed me, Jack, and you're going to pay for it", said Salazar.

"What? I did not betray you! What the hell are you talking about?" Once more Jack jerked in Dante's (or Andre's?) and Eric's tight grip but it was no use. It appeared he wasn't going to kickbox his way out of this one.

Salazar turned away from Jack, leisurely walking to a couple of workbenches in the back of the renovated warehouse cellar he currently called his base of operations. The Condos for him and his `employees' were in the stories above.

"Hector saw you, Jack."

"Hector saw me doing what?" Calm, he was totally calm now. His training had kicked in with all its might, had slowed his heartbeat, stopped the rush of blood in his ears. He was calm. And in control. He could do this.

"Paying off the snitch." Ramon said a little distracted by whatever he was doing at the benches. Jack couldn't see what. The angle was bad.

The snitch. Mickey? Oh god, he hoped Salazar was talking about Mickey, because that he would find a way to explain. Easily. He was just a low-rated streetwise informant for the LAPD, nothing special, nothing Jack couldn't handle. He hoped.

Jack snorted. And it sounded just right. Exactly the mix of relief and disgust he had aimed for. "You've gotta be kidding me, Ramon. This is what this is about?" Salazar didn't stop whatever he was doing. You have to do better than that, Jack, he told himself. "I paid him because he had seen you slapping this girl around the other day. The one with the tattooed palms? You were so mad at her you couldn't even wait till you were *inside* the fucking building before you started beating her up. Hell, Ramon, I was doing you a *favor*!"

Too much? He didn't know but he thought not. No, not too much. Just a man in distress, talking a little louder and a little faster than usual. C'mon, Ramon, buy it!

Finally, the older of the Salazar brothers turned around and Jack could see what he held in his hands. A syringe. Jack focused his gaze on Salazar's face, hoping to find a reaction there.

Salazar walked back over to him, slowly, apparently thinking about what Jack had just told him. He tried willing him to believe it. He had to believe it goddamn it or else Jack's live wasn't worth a dime right now.

The man stopped in front of him, casually waving the needle in front of Jack's face. Salazar frowned deeply. "So, what you're saying is, that that guy saw me doing something profoundly impolite and you paid him so he would not turn this information over to the police?" He looked genuinely interested and Jack hated him for it.

"Yes." Good, no hint of panic. Just determination. He could do this.

Salazar kept looking at him for a long time and although Jack was usually a very good judge of human nature he couldn't tell if Salazar had bought his story. Salazar was good too. Damn him.

After an eternity that was about a minute or less long, the Ramon Salazar trademark smile came back to his face. This time it was lopsided. "Jack, how often have I told you that you can't make that kind of decisions without consulting me or Hector first?"

The question was obviously rhetorical so Jack kept his silence.

Salazar sighed melodramatically and put the syringe into the pocket of his flight jacket. Jack breathed an inner sigh of relief but made sure that nothing showed up on his face. No mistakes. Only one would cost him this mission and probably his life along with it. Salazar looked at the far end of the wall for a moment before turning back to Jack. He still hadn't signaled his bodyguards to let him go and that worried Jack.

"I'm afraid this time I can't let you get away with a slap on your wrist, Jack. You've made one too many decision over mine and Hector's head."

Jack just looked at him, unafraid. He had believed his story, that was important. Whatever came next was merely a minor discomfort compared to the gravity of this case. He remembered the luscious kiss Salazar had pressed onto Jack's lips a few minutes ago and therefor wasn't too surprised by his next order.

"Bend him over the table, guys. And secure him."

The lump in Jack's stomach was rock solid but he didn't fight them when they dragged him over to the old kitchen table Salazar usually used to play cards on or eat pizza. Fighting would only turn him on more, he knew. He had been undercover with this man for seven months now, certainly long enough to get to know him well enough to know this.

Eric and Andre (or Dante?) made a mistake. When his chest hit the table, only one of them had one hand in the small of his back to hold him down. Only one hand. He could fight now, most likely escape them. But what then? What then?

In the shortness of time, Jack's brain came up with only two possible outcomes of the situation. Either he fought and ran, ruining (and wasting) the last seven month of his life and a lot of resources or... Or he let Salazar rape him. Whatever it takes, Jack thought when he felt the men tie his hands to the front pair of the table legs. They did it simultaneously and Jack realized that this second mistake was his last chance for escape.

He let it pass.

It only took a few seconds to separate and tie his legs to the other table legs, then Salazar ordered Eric and Dante (or Andre?) to leave them alone and close the door. In a way, Jack was relieved he was alone with Salazar now. This was going to be bad enough as it was, he didn't need the little extra twinge of witnesses.

He more felt than heard Salazar behind him, admiring the view probably. Salazar had wanted Jack the moment he had laid eyes on him, but Jack had made it unmistakably clear that he wasn't interested. Up until now, Salazar had honored their `arrangement'.

A hand on his ass. Probably the same hand that had touched his face earlier. It gripped hard, almost bruisingly before moving down to his thigh, then back up. Jack knew his cover demanded of him to say something so he wetted his dry lips to speak. "Ramon, c'mon, you can't be serious about this. This is not one of your games, this is rape! I thought we were friends!" He didn't have to try very hard to bring the desperation into his voice.

Salazar other hand found its way on Jack's other buttock, mimicking the motion the first hand had made. "This is not about friendship, Jack. It's about punishment. You have to follow our orders if you want this business relationship to work." He paused and Jack could actually hear him lick his lips. "And I have a feeling you're going to learn this little lesson well."

Begging was not in Jack Bauer's nature but he knew it was what Ramon Salazar expected from his cover, Jack Pickard. "Please," he forced out. "I got it, really. You don't have to do this."

Salazar just laughed a little at that. "You still don't get it, do you? I *want* to do this."

Oh, Jack understood very well, he understood perfectly. But there was nothing left to do for him now but to endure it. Get through it with his body and mind intact.

Salazar stepped forward, pushing his hands beneath Jack to open his belt and his pair of jeans. It didn't take him long and only a few moments later, Jack felt the cool air of the warehouse cellar brush across his naked backside. He shivered, he couldn't help it. But it couldn't be as bad as what Prescott's men had done to him, right? Surely being raped was preferable to being tortured to death.

Salazar pressed up against him, rubbing his erection (oh yes, Jack could feel it as clear as a spring day in California, even through Salazar's pants) against Jack in a predatory fashion. Jack closed his eyes from the red and white stripes of the table top and concentrated on breathing regularly instead. It would be over in a few minutes. He could do this.

Thankfully, Salazar didn't waste any more time and Jack heard him step back, open his belt and zipper, and lowering his own pants. He wandered briefly whether or not Salazar was going to prepare him in any way. He knew that much about gay sex.

It took Jack a second or two to identify the next sound he heard. Salazar had spit out and Jack's stomach locked down even harder when he realized what was going to happen to that bit of spittle. He felt a hand on his hip and guessed that Salazar was taking aim. He grind his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He had no intention of giving Salazar the satisfaction of screaming. Or crying. Or any other sound. He could do this, he reminded himself.

"I know you are a virgin back here, Jack, so let me tell you that this will hurt a lot less if you relax. Even better: Try to enjoy it!"

Jack made no reply. Couldn't have even if he wanted. He just lay there and waited for it to be over.

When Salazar's strangely hot penis touched him, he was completely taken by surprise, no matter how well he had known what was going to happen next. He flinched and Salazar laughed. But the laughter was hoarse, he was extremely aroused now.

The hand that was not on his hip parted his buttocks and he felt the tip of Salazar's cock linger at his anus (ceasing the moment) before he pushed forward, into him.

The pain was dull at first, then turned bright red in a heartbeat. He held his breath as he felt himself being penetrated. He had seen Salazar naked and erect before, had watched him rape a young man (blue eyes and blond hair, just like him), and so he knew that the size of Salazar's penis was nothing to write home about. But it hurt. Hell, it hurt badly.

Finally, Salazar was all the way in, or so Jack supposed, and remained still for a moment. A distant corner of Jack's mind had time to realize that the man was actually going easy on him. He heard Salazar take in a few deep breath before he began moving and the burn was nothing Jack had ever felt before. He let out the breath he had been holding, taking a new one, holding it again. He didn't know how long he could take this. It hurt so bad.

He felt torn, bleeding, but Jack was almost sure it was an illusion. He forced himself to breath and after a few of Salazar's slow back and forward motions, the pain began to cease a little. It still wasn't pleasant but it was far better bearable than at first. He actually relaxed a little and it seemed Salazar had waited for this moment because he picked up his speed. Jack felt Salazar shift minutely and despite himself gasped a little when he pushed forward the next time.

Jack was no fool, he knew how receptive a man's prostate was but he bit down on his lip, not admitting to himself that he felt the tiniest spark of arousal every time Salazar's penis hit that
sensitive spot so well hidden inside his body.

"You feel wonderful, Jack. Perfect! Just like I imagined you would feel." His voice was hoarse and the words were out of rhythm the rational part of Jack's mind immediately analyzed. He was close, he had to be. Not much longer.

He was right. After about a dozen more thrusts, Salazar entered him with more power than ever, driving Jack into the table and he actually felt his eyes water at the oh so deep penetration. But it
was over, he could tell from the sound of Salazar moaning, tell from the penis shrinking inside him. Jack took a deep breath, let it out irregularly.

Salazar massaged his buttocks roughly, pulling out slowly. Jack dared to open his eyes. And consciously tried to slow his racing heart, accompanied by the sounds of Salazar putting his pants back on. Mockery was next. Had to be.

Salazar moved around to the front of the table, squatting down beside Jack's head. "You've been a very good boy, Jack. I want to give you a reward." He fished the syringe out of his pocket, removing the cap dexterously. Jack startled back but was either too slow or not mobile enough to avoid the needle being jabbed into a vein on his right hand.

"Son of a bitch," he sneered at Salazar but he could already feel the effects of the injection. The detachment, the beginning of a feeling of weightlessness.

Before the warm, comforting darkness could overwhelm him, he heard Salazar's last words: "That was my special cocktail, Jack. I think you know what that means..."

- end -