The Apocolypse Is Upon Us (better write some pr0n)

Title: Best of a Bad Situation
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jared/Other, Jensen/Other
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, prostitution, drug use, unsafe sex
Word Count: Just under 11,000

“Again?”

Jared jerks, sloshing the white wine he’s been chugging over his cuff, and curses.

“Oops, sorry.” Taylor hands him a napkin from the nearby buffet and then joins Jared at the balcony rails.

Jensen and Jeff are just disappearing through the entry of the private cabana reserved for special guests of La Hacienda. Jared watches Jeff close the glass curtained doors behind them and continues to stare down, trying to lose himself in the dancing sparkle of the pool water as it catches under the Tiki lamps surrounding the patio.

“Yeah. Again.”

He doesn’t even shrug Taylor’s hand off when he feels it lie heavy on his shoulder and squeeze. Taylor Kitsch has latched on to Jared sort of like a little brother, even though Taylor is older. Despite Jared’s resolve not to get too involved with the others, he’s found himself helping Taylor adjust to life at the compound. As much as he can, anyway.

With Jensen otherwise occupied lately — and that is a bitter bile in Jared’s throat that no amount of wine can wash down — they’ve even struck up a shaky friendship, Jared quickly clueing into the fact that there is much more to Taylor than a pretty face.

“Taylor.” Michael’s voice cracks out suddenly behind them like a whip. Taylor flinches, but with all Jared’s other problems right now, Michael’s asshole behavior seems like small potatoes for a change. “You’re needed.”

Taylor mumbles something and squeezes Jared’s shoulder briefly again before following Michael into the lit interior of the house.

Jared continues staring into the water, long after they’re both gone.

***Jared and Jensen have talked about this possibility.

In their time at La Hacienda, they’ve seen clients who like multiple partners or who get off on just watching two or three of La Hacienda’s workers together. So yeah, they’ve talked about it. But they’d always just assumed it would be them together, which seems pretty absurd in retrospect.

Jared guesses neither of them could ever imagine having to perform with anyone else, though. And until tonight, they haven’t had to. Maybe that’s how it would have been this time if Jeff wasn’t monopolizing Jensen’s time just about every night.

Jeff had arrived, right on schedule, at eight, just as he had for the last six nights. Jensen had gone to him only moments later, leaving Jared to kick his heels and indulge in masochistic fantasies about what’s going on in Jeff’s cabana. Does Jeff like Jensen’s mouth wrapped around his cock as much as Jared does? Does Jensen do that special thing with his tongue that leaves Jared clawing up the walls? With age, does Jeff also have the experience to make it better for Jensen than Jared ever could?

He hopes he’s just being paranoid. Knows he’s not. What else can they be doing in the private little house out back of the pool? Why else would Jeff be here at all? And Jared would have to be blind and stupid not to see the way that Jeff looks at Jensen. The way he’s always looked at Jensen.

Shifting his shoulders to settle his jacket, Jared is deep in thought when he approaches the large double-doors to the Blue Room. There’s a shuffle off to his right as Taylor steps up to turn the doorknob. When Kitsch spots him, Jared figures he must be wearing an identical look of confusion on his own face.

“Both of us?” Jared asks in a low voice.

Taylor hesitates and then nods jerkily. “Guess so.” He tucks his long hair behind his ear and opens the door.

Though Jared had been expecting something, given the glee with which Michael had informed him of tonight’s assignment, this puts a whole new — and ugly — spin on tonight’s activities. Jared grinds his teeth with irrational anger and he feels the vein his forehead throb with his pulse. If Jensen wasn’t otherwise occupied, Jared wouldn’t be in this position right now.

The room is dim. The crystal chandelier over their heads has been turned down to an eerie orange glow. Large pillar candles burn steadily but wanly on either side of the room and the man and woman sitting side by side in the Louis XIV chairs Claudia is so protective of are partially obscured by the shadows dancing over them. The lace and silk hem of her dress and the shine of his shoes indicate an affluence that has become more and more rare, even here, the bright jewel of La Hacienda. Jared’s become pretty familiar with the regular clientele by now; he’s pretty sure these two have never tasted La Hacienda hospitality and a little extra tickle of nervousness skitters down his neck. New means unknown—unknown desires and unknown outcomes. Jared would never say he’s gotten used to the things they do to survive, but there is a familiarity to his regulars that there isn’t here. Jared says a brief prayer that they just like to watch. Amends it by asking also that Jensen be back in their room, waiting for him, when he’s done here.

Taylor fidgets beside him and Jared is once more reminded that, despite their closeness in years, Jared’s experience with this sort of thing is now so far advanced over Taylor’s — a thought he finds both ironic and pathetic, if not outright sickening. Jared remembers how Taylor had looked after his first big off-site party, dazed and stumbling. Jared and Jensen had dodged that party like a bullet, but there’d been others; Jared knew the scene. Taylor had only been at La Hacienda for four days at that point, and Jared had admired how Taylor had gritted his teeth and followed through without a murmur of complaint. The kid had grit — no, not a kid. Just ‘fresh’.

As Jared no longer is. There are days he still doesn’t know how he came to be here, like this, this person. He’s managed to get over the self-pity, mostly by remembering that there are hundreds and thousands of people now probably wondering the same thing—and in far less amicable circumstances, though using that word about his life here put a bad taste in Jared’s mouth.

Rumor is that Gina found Taylor, bedraggled and starving like a stray dog, one day while in the city arranging a delivery. People come and go from La Hacienda with some regularity. Sometimes they’re only here a day or two—long enough to figure out that what’s expected of them in exchange for the House’s hospitality is a steeper price than they’re willing to pay—before hightailing it back into the wasteland that used to be the land of opportunity. Sometimes they want to stay, but Claudia vetoes, something about them not up to her exacting standards. And then, rarely, there are the ones like him and Jensen and Taylor who come and stay, for various reasons, becoming part of the extended family Jared’s come to know so well.

“Claudia was correct, darling.” The man’s voice pierces the gloom of the room. He reaches over to caress his partner’s knee through the thin silk of her dress. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful pair in your life?” Jared thinks his voice sounds oily.

The woman’s breathy excitement as she answers, however, actively makes Jared’s skin crawl. “And they’re all ours tonight, love. To do with as we like.” She purrs and Jared feels very much like a mouse headed for a trap.

Jared feels Taylor retreat into himself as her words sink in. The memory of Jared’s own first weeks at La Hacienda and how he coped with having to perform for clients is something he’ll never be able to forget. Without thinking, Jared reaches over and clasps Taylor’s hand in his, entangling their fingers and squeezing reassurance through his grip. Out of the corner of his eye, Jared sees Taylor turn toward him slightly and exhale loudly. He realizes they’ve both been holding their breath and consciously inhales through his nose, releasing it slowly through his mouth. Taylor follows his lead. Good. At least he won’t pass out from hyperventilating.

Jared realizes the couple is waiting expectantly for their entertainment.

“May I refill your glasses?” Jared’s voice is low and formal as he lowers his eyes to the floor. He knows how to play this one. Don’t freak on me, Jared conveys with another squeeze of Taylor’s hand before letting go.

“Actually, we’ve provided our own refreshment.” The man lazily wags a finger at the decanter sitting on the tray to his right. “And we always share. Pour yourselves a drink and have a seat.” Jared notices the two divans placed strategically in front of the couple.

“I’m fine…” Taylor avers and Jared closes his eyes for a few seconds, wishing fervently they’d had a chance to speak privately beforehand. Taylor is still so raw, wearing everything right out on the surface and, after six months of living it and watching those closest to him being caught up in a life none of them ever expected, Jared knows there are some pointers he could’ve passed on to Taylor that would have made this evening a bit easier on both of them. If he’d had the opportunity. Fucking Michael and his wacko ideas of fun. Instead, Jared only has time to press the toe of his shoe against Taylor’s arch before their guests become impatient.

“It’s not a request, really.”

Taylor flinches at the woman’s tone and Jared walks forward and pours two glasses of wine from its crystal container. Might as well get this over with.

“Sit. Relax,” she commands.

Jared hands Taylor a glass, giving the other man a burning look: Follow my lead. But Taylor seems to be slipping away before Jared’s eyes. He steps in closer until he can smell Taylor’s shampoo and aftershave, lets his mouth brush against the soft dark hair and murmurs, “It’ll be okay. We’re cool.” Jared’s fingers brush against the collar of Taylor’s fitted dress shirt then slide down his arm to clasp his wrist, tugging Taylor down to sit with him on the small sofa. Taylor folds easily under the pressure and Jared puts a steadying hand on Taylor’s knee, holding his glass tightly in the other.

“You have to excuse Taylor. He’s shy.” Jared tries to smile coyly, playing up the ‘first time’ act Taylor’s started. He takes a sip of the wine.

Jared’s tried and true method of getting through his appointments is to crawl into his head. It’s a job, nothing more, nothing less. He doesn’t—can’t—fantasize about the people using his body, so he just goes someplace else and lets his body respond. Whether he’s fucking or being fucked, he can usually make it work.

On the other hand, it’s obvious pretty quickly, looking at Taylor’s huge, blown eyes and the swift heave of his breath, that Taylor hasn’t yet learned that trick. Jared senses Taylor growing more tense by the second, unsure and feeling pressured to perform. Taylor keeps glancing to him, and Jared realizes Taylor’s expecting him to continue to take the lead.

It shocks Jared to discover how much he’s been relying on Jensen to ground him and lead the way, in service and out. Their partnership is so effortless; Jared’s never had to think about it, never analyzed the hows and whys of what makes him and Jensen such a good team. He just knows that the whole scenario would be so much easier if it was Jen here instead of Taylor. Now, he’s in the position to take charge and guide them both through this and he doesn’t know if he can. Once again a wave of resentment at Jeff—and even a little at Jensen—washes over him.

The couple—their clients—aren’t helping. Jared’s never that comfortable with being watched. He’s even less comfortable with being directed, the couple dictating his and Taylor’s actions from their shadowed corner like bad pornography.

Touch him. Pinch his nipples. Yes, like that. Now harder. Make it hurt. Kiss him. No, like you mean it. More tongue, make it wet.

The woman’s the worst. She talks the most and her high, tuneless voice grates on Jared’s nerves, making him clench his jaw so tightly his eyes burn. Or that could be the melting heat of the candle-lit, airless room. Jared’s dripping sweat and so is Taylor but their suggestion to open a window was soundly vetoed.

No, we like the way you look all wet and nasty. Oh, you’re not drinking your wine.

Jared’s almost desperate to reach a place of calm acceptance. Not just for himself; if he was calmer, he thinks he could pull Taylor with him so the guy won’t freak the fuck out and bring down Claudia’s ire on both of them. But it’s hard to think through the constant drone of voices and Taylor’s hands on Jared’s overheated, oversensitive skin.

Jared drains the last of his wine and the decanter appears instantly in the light to refill their glasses, a truly magical trick. Jared finds himself fascinated with the jewel-like glisten of the ruby liquid, its richness contrasting with the fleur-de-lis etched into the glasses.

Drink up, gentlemen. The night’s just getting started.

Jared turns the glass around in his fingers. The wine’s too sweet and isn’t quenching his thirst. He feels so thirsty. He watches Taylor drain half the glass in one gulp, though, and Jared finds himself fixated on Taylor’s mouth, glistening wet in the candlelight. It’s not like the lush plumpness of Jensen’s mouth, but a darker pink, sharply drawn and thin. As Taylor licks the excess wine away, Jared wonders if they’d taste the same, if Taylor’s mouth would be soft or hard under his. He’s kissed Taylor, he knows he has, but suddenly he can’t remember. It feels like it’s important to find out.

Jared’s plan to distance himself has inexplicably decided to work, he guesses, because their client’s voices have receded to just a drone in his ears, like the constant roaring maul of the ocean against the cliffs. On the other hand, Taylor seems to have come more into focus, right in the foreground and almost glowing in the honey-colored light. Jared watches Taylor swallow; with his eyes, he traces the slither of a droplet of wine-mixed sweat down Taylor’s sharp chin and strong neck to join the diamond pool gathering in the hollow of Taylor’s throat.

Jared wonders if he could quench his thirst there, drinking in the moisture that covers Taylor’s golden skin like dew.

There’s pressure on his neck and Jared realizes that Taylor is pulling him in for a kiss. His face is growing large and all Jared can do is stare at those amazingly moist lips. He’ll get to find out what they feel like. His eagerness is replaced with disappointment when Taylor turns Jared’s face off to the side at the last second and whispers warmly in his ear.

“I promise to make it good, Jay.”

Then he kisses Jared open-mouthed and sloppy, but the only thought swirling through Jared’s head is why Taylor is calling him Jay. It’s so strange to hear his nickname falling from lips other than Jensen’s. He wishes Jensen was here. But the way Taylor licks and nibbles on his neck , both hands cupping Jared’s face, convinces him it’s not that important. Jared’s hands come to light on Taylor’s waist as Taylor presses his lean body into Jared’s, straddling his thigh so that Jared feels Taylor’s cock digging into the dip where body meets legs.

He wants to push Taylor away and ask him what he’s doing, but that’s pretty obvious and, though guilt hovers uneasily in the background, Jared doesn’t hate the feel of Taylor against him. Really, what Jared wants even more is to know what Taylor’s throat tastes like. It feels like he’s been wondering all night. Forever.

The room is so airless. It’s become a vacuum and Jared’s ears pop, which doesn’t at all stop the building pressure in his head. He’s losing track of details, losing track of everything.

Taylor’s hand is at his belt and he’s undoing Jared’s pants quicker than Jared would have given him credit for. And still Jared’s hands aren’t working. Or at least they are not minding him. He knows he’s moved up to hold onto Taylor’s shoulders; he can feel his grip tighten in the soft, silky fabric of Taylor’s shirt. The texture is so fine, softened even further by the heat of Taylor’s body, by the sweat rolling and beading down his skin…Jared wonders how it is he can actually smell the arousal flowing off of the other man in waves. Jared rubs his thumb across Taylor’s naked skin—earning a quiet moan from Taylor—and then leans in to taste.

And, oh yeah. Taylor tastes just as sweet as he thought he would. Unsatisfied with that small sample, Jared buries his face in the curve of Taylor’s neck, swiping a long, slow stripe with his tongue along the hot skin. Taylor moans louder, hips thrusting against Jared’s thigh and Jared inhales deeply, filling his nostrils with the musky odor of sweat and man.

The buzzing in his ears becomes a persistent, annoying drone, louder and closer. “Suck him, now. You know you want to. So hungry for it, little slut. Wrap those lips around his cock and suck him until he comes.”

Jared rumbles his protest as Taylor backs out of his arms, leaving Jared with nothing to touch, to taste. Taylor kneels before Jared, looking up at him with huge, hungry eyes as he massages the taut muscles of Jared’s thighs, kneading with his thumbs. It feels so good. Jared’s legs fall open obediently.

His pants are open, Jared knows that he’s exposed, but there’s no cool air brushing across bare skin, no relief. It’s still warm and oppressive. Choking. Jared whines, deep in his throat, and then hands—other hands—are stripping his shirt away too, leaving his skin to gleam in the light like he’s been oiled. Freed, he welcomes the cool, feminine touch on the back of his neck and along his throat. It’s still sauna-hot in the room, but the lack of chafing cloth is an intense pleasure all its own and he lets Taylor tug his pants away too, increasing the sensation.

The woman’s hand moves along his skin and into his hair with restless, hypnotic ease. Jared smells her perfume as she leans in closer, resting her chin on his shoulder, and fights a sudden wave of nausea at its thick, cloying scent, overwhelming the cleaner, more natural smells of Taylor’s body and his own.

“So beautiful. Look at him. Watch his mouth sucking you down.” She tilts Jared’s head down until all he can see is Taylor’s lips pursing over the head of his dick before he pulls back, then leans in to lick the length from root to crown. Taylor looks up and his golden eyes speak volumes of his need. “Look at how eager he is, how bad he wants it. So desperate. So gorgeous. Touch him. You know you want to. That thick, glossy hair, so perfect for pulling.”

Jared squeezes his eyes closed defiantly, determined not to look though his hands ache with the desire to do as she says and tangle his fingers in Taylor’s hair, so much longer and finer than Jensen’s. His eyes spring open again when he feels Taylor’s mouth encircle him again, hot and wet on his straining cock. At first Taylor takes him tentatively, then–as a moan is unwillingly wrenched out of Jared and the sensation of rising want thickens–with greedy desperation, delicious pressure around Jared’s dick His cock jerks, then begins to swell harder as Taylor swirls his tongue and sucks eagerly. The woman’s presence behind him is replaced with another, firmer, bulkier body and she presses him back to lie against the man’s chest, the distracting press of the client’s hard cock right against the base of Jared’s spine.

Her filed nails flick at his nipples, scrape lightly down his stomach and Jared arches up, overwhelmed by input. Between his legs, Taylor coughs, caught by surprise and choking.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Jared tries to apologize, but his mouth feels numb and unresponsive and when he tries to reach for Taylor, the man stops him, holding Jared down by his biceps.

The draw of Taylor’s hot mouth eases momentarily and Jared draws a deep, shuddering breath, scrabbling for some kind of control, some kind of sanity. But he doesn’t find any before Taylor takes him in again with renewed purpose and vigor. Jared’s legs swing open wider, almost against his will, and he hears and feels the clients’ laughter, rumbling against his back.

That doesn’t matter, though. Jared wrenches free far enough to run his fingers through Taylor’s thick, dark hair. It’s just as smooth, just as silky as he thought it would be. Jared plays with it for several distracted seconds before gripping two handfuls and pulling that beautiful mouth more firmly down on his cock to the sound of more jangling, derisive laughter.

“We need to be able to remember this for a long time, darling. Get the camera.”

Taylor was never a bulky guy, for all his muscles. Between the apocalypse and his arrival at La Hacienda, he’s thinner yet, but Taylor still has the cut and look of a male in his prime. In the flickering golden light of the candles, hissing in their puddles of melted wax, Taylor is beautiful. His rigorous workouts each morning show in the almost delicate sweep of his hipbone, the spread of strong muscle rippling just under the glowing skin of his belly. He shifts on his knees for a better angle and his shoulders roll like a lion stalking its prey.

By now, Jared’s positive they’ve been drugged and can feel it coursing through his veins, accelerated by alcohol and arousal. He swallows, trying to moisten his mouth, and can actually taste the metallic-alkaline flavor, like touching the tip of his tongue to a 9-volt battery. And still, as Jared’s arousal grows, so does the vacuum in his ears, expanding until he feels like his head is trapped in a vise and he’s half-deafened by white noise.

Jared catches a movement in his peripheral vision and turns his head just in time to look directly into a camera’s flash, blinding him with little dancing stars of blackness. He moans and closes his eyes, but it doesn’t really help as a second flash lights the rooms and the backs of his eyes. And still Taylor is drawing him deeper down his throat, humming around his dick while his hand strokes all over Jared’s skin; along the tops of Jared’s thighs and across his bare stomach before moving around to caress the sensitive skin over his balls and further back. Dueling sensations of nausea and lust settle in a warring knot deep in Jared’s stomach, but the exploratory touch of Taylor’s fingertip to his hole yanks Jared back to the reality of their situation and his simmering anger at it all.

Goddamn motherfucking entitled bastards, think they can come in here and fucking own us like pieces of meat. The thought startles Jared. Something’s not right. More not right.

Jared shoves at Taylor’s shoulders, trying to push him off. The hands clutching his arms tighten again, pulling at him just above his elbows until he’s unbalanced and falling back.

“Hold still, you stupid whore.” Jared hears the anger in the man’s voice. He barely has time to register how strange it feels, this meshing of arousal and rage. His climax is imminent, but there’s also an edge of pain and other, less identifiable emotions. Jared bunches the muscles in his forearms in anticipation of throwing off the hands that are now shoving him down to the floor, flat on his back. His body is a stranger to him and the rush of orgasm is building to a crescendo, out of his control now.

Please. Please.

He doesn’t know if he’s begging for orgasm or freedom, unable to distinguish that finely.

More murmuring voices, indistinct except for emotion: encouraging, coaxing. All at once, Jared feels Taylor shudder against his thigh and his dick slithers out of Taylor’s wet mouth slapping tightly against his belly, unsatisfied and aching. Even in his desire to get away, to make it stop, Jared can’t stop the moaning protest of loss and reaches to pull Taylor back.

He rises onto his elbows, and sees the reason for the interruption. Jared flushes through in both hot desire and embarrassment as he watches the woman working a dildo in and out of Taylor, who crouches open-mouthed and closed-eyed, shuddering with sensation. As she pulls it all the way out, the candlelight catches the Slick on the smooth hard plastic, making it gleam like glass. And God, it’s so fucking hot, in every way. Jared’s cock spurts thickly and he thinks the sight might be enough to send him over the edge right the fuck now. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, welcoming the pain.

Taylor sits back on his heels, instinctively pushing his ass higher, and Jared’s gaze is riveted to the thick, purple head of Taylor’s dick, crowned with drops of viscous fluid which smear, glistening, across the head as Taylor jacks himself while staring into Jared’s eyes. With his mouth hanging slack and eyes drooping with lust, Taylor’s whole body screams come fuck me.

“Need it, Jared.” It always surprises Jared how deep Taylor’s voice is, and tonight it hits him right between the legs. His hips rise off the floor and he doesn’t even care anymore that they have an audience. “Need you to fuck me.”

The naked plea hits Jared even harder than the sight of Taylor getting fucked by the dildo. Jared feels molten and thick with the heat pooling in his belly and cock, as if he could spontaneously combust right here, like this. “Fuck yeah, T. Get up here.” He jerks his head, both acknowledging and encouraging, causing a rain of sweat to fall from his bangs into his eyes. Jared strokes his own cock, slicking pre-come down the shaft and then grips it at the base, holding it steady and upright. When Taylor knee-walks toward him, Jared lies back, all invitation and eagerness.

If he was enamored of Taylor’s mouth, his tight ass sends Jared into shuddering spasms. Even already prepared by their hostess, the squeeze as Taylor bears down to rest is incredible, intense, robbing Jared of the ability to do anything at all other than make quiet, desperate noises that are echoed by Taylor’s needy, pained whimpers. He can tell it’s hurting Taylor, but he just keeps coming on, sinking on Jared until they’re balls to balls, in one smooth, steady slide.

The rational—and minority–part of Jared registers that Taylor must be just as drugged out as he is. And that Taylor’s probably going to pay for that in the morning but, judging by the way he gazes down at Jared, eyes glazed and mouth slightly open, breath hot and heavy while he twitches his hips and adjusts to Jared inside him, right now Taylor doesn’t mind. When Jared flexes his hips and hitches into an arch, unable to stay still, he watches Taylor’s eyes widen, color shimmering like a kaleidoscope. It’s hard to remember to take it slow, to be careful, when all he wants to do is plow into that sweet, clinging ass.

Even given his relative inexperience, Taylor rides Jared with all the enthusiasm of a young, horny — and X’d out, roofied — male, incautious of the pain and his trust in every look and gesture.. But that knowledge–that burden–isn’t enough to stop Jared from driving his cock hard and fast up into Taylor while he strokes the other man, reveling in the feel of silk and iron under his palm. His grip on Taylor is much tighter than should be comfortable, but Taylor doesn’t care about that either, his dark hair flying in all directions as he throws his head back. Jared is mesmerized by how the light catches in the strands, a result of both the candlelight and dampness of their exertions. He wishes he had another hand, to bury his fingers in it again, to pull Taylor back into a bow and bring all those sharply cut muscles into greater relief.

Jared’s so distracted by this thought that he almost doesn’t notice when Taylor starts to come, except for the broken moan. Jared’s amazed at the sheer quantity as he milks Taylor’s dick until the final slow burble of come slides down his wrung-out cock.

“Wait,” Taylor gasps. “Wait.”

Jared feels like every muscle of his body is clenched tight as he holds himself, rubbing his come-wet hands up and down Taylor’s thighs and trying not to beg. When the other man begins teasing at Jared’s nipples, dragging blunted nails over his chest and down his sides, smearing his own come into Jared’s skin, Jared takes that as his cue and begins pumping up into Taylor again, biting his lower lip in concentration. He’s so close. Jared’s thigh and hip muscles burn but can’t stop himself from rearing up, trying to crawl inside Taylor.

“Come on, Jay. Come for me. Wanna feel you hot and wet and slick inside me.”

Another camera flash cuts through the dimness, turning Taylor into a ghost.

Even knowing they’re being filmed like some perverse porn show for this couple’s future enjoyment can’t stop Jared’s climax. His body goes rigid just before the heat of his come wrings out of him and fills Taylor. Fills him so full, it spills back down Jared’s cock, tickling his balls as it trickles between his legs, hot and ticklish.

Jared moans and arches up but at the same time, the sensation slaps him like a shock of ice water. If he can feel his own come sliding out of Taylor, then he isn’t wearing a condom. And they all always wear condoms. House rules.

Oh, God.

Before Jared’s thought can go any further, Taylor grunts and warm, thick come spurts on Jared’s chest, neck and even his chin as Taylor climaxes again with a final, clenching grind on Jared’s cock that makes Jared buck up into him again.

When Taylor pulls himself away and rolls to the side, lying his head on Jared’s thigh, they’re both still hard. If Taylor feels anything like Jared does, itchy and restless under his skin, he’s nowhere near satisfied yet.

Even without protection, Jared’s ready to reach for Taylor again when the skanky whore client pushes Taylor away to straddle Jared’s hips, gathering her skirt up to fuck herself on his still rigid dick. Still with no condom.

Oh, hell no.

Jared bucks sharply to the side, jarring her over. The candle in her hand sprays hot wax across his chest. The fucked-up thing is that he can’t even tell if it hurts or feels good. Jared stiffens and he automatically puts his hand over the burning, tender skin. The cooling wax smears across his fingertips, though, as the muscles in his hands spasm and his fingers curl into claws. Jared realizes there’s now a new rigidity to deal with; his lungs are constricting, cutting off the flow of oxygen, slowly squeezing his chest shut.

The attack rides up his spine before Jared can squeak out a protest, wrapping cloying fingers around his lungs. Jared has maybe two seconds to think, Fuck no. Not that. Not now, before his eyes start to roll back in his head.

The hands gripping his shoulders loosen and the support behind him vanishes as the man skitters away. Jared’s head crashes into the carpet, but, in the midst of his other troubles, he hardly notices.

“Jay? Jared!” Taylor leans over Jared, a black cutout face with long hair and a familiar smell—sweat and sex and Jared. He smooths his hand across Jared’s face before clasping his wrist tightly, trying to pull it away from Jared’s throat. Jared’s dick jumps at the feel of Taylor’s skin on his, still so entirely, defiantly hard, even when he can’t fucking breathe.

“Fuck.” Taylor’s face vanishes and, without anyone to touch him, anything to see but the looming darkness, he swims in empty space, frighteningly alone.

Then the overhead light comes on, an incandescent blaze that blinds him, shaking and shivering and trying to breathe. There’s lots of commotion and voices around him. Jared can’t focus on any of them while he feels his airway closing, an iron bar across his throat.

Jensen, he thinks. Jensen, I’m sorry. There’s so much I should’ve said…

“Jared, here.” Taylor’s voice is chipping away at the blackness that wants to engulf Jared again and then he feels the hard plastic of an inhaler between his lips, gouging his gum. Jared sucks instinctively on the lip of the inhaler tasting blood and the bitter antiseptic of the albuterol. A moment later, the sharp but light prick of the Epi jabs his thigh. Again, the signals of pleasure and pain cross and tangle and Jared’s hips stutter up, seeking friction.

“Jen. ” He forces the name from his slowly loosening throat. That name is always his first thought upon waking and last before sleeping. Always Jen.

***“JENSEN!”

Jared’s throat feels like ground taco meat, which could be from the epic proportion asthma attack or the fact that he’s been screaming for Jensen since he woke up.

The clients are nowhere to be seen, but there’s plenty of other people gathered around him in a loose circle. Gina is kneeling beside him, her warm fingers around his. Behind her shoulder, Allie and Katie are staring worriedly and further off he can hear Claudia reading someone the riot act, ice dripping from her taut, measured tone. Jared’s eyes are watering from the searing brightness after candle-lit darkness and closes his eyes again, tugging his hand from Gina’s to cover the upper half of his face.

“Turn those off,” someone–maybe Allie–hisses. Jared feels it, like a balm across his skin, when the room is pitched back into blessed dimness. He wishes it could just as easily soothe the itch under his skin, wildfire burning him from the inside out.

There’s a tentative touch on his shoulder. Jared can tell it’s meant to be reassuring, but it’s just another irritation, another distraction, and it’s not Jensen so he bats it away and curls as best he can into the divan, pulling up the light throw someone considerately put over him while he was unconscious. He’s still naked under the soft chenille, and, even worse, still achingly hard. His hands automatically cup in his lap, hiding his shame and the evidence that he and Taylor have been well and truly drugged.

Taylor? Fuzzily, it occurs to Jared he doesn’t know what’s happened to Taylor. Steeling himself for the press of people, Jared lifts his head and scans the room. Michael and Gary block his view, but he’s pretty sure Taylor is sprawled over the other divan, moaning softly while the men mutter around him. He hears Taylor say his name and winces at the longing laced through that single word.

“Where’s Jensen? What’s wrong with Taylor?” His swiftly rising panic makes his chest and throat twinge in warning and the inhaler is jammed in his mouth again.

“Breathe, Jared, goddamnit!” Only Allie can sound so pissed and sympathetic at the same time.

“Jared, Claudia went to get Jensen.” Gina’s light, honeyed voice soothes him but he’s grateful she doesn’t try to touch him again. “Taylor’s fine; Michael’s taking care of him. They drugged you, honey. You’ve both been roofied to the high heavens, but you’re gonna be all right, you hear me?”

Jared nods, the lump in his throat from more than his allergies. Everyone’s going to know. Everyone’s going to see what happened to him. What he did. The come on his skin is drying and itching, a reminder as much as the deep, painful ache of his cock.

Cid Sanders, the house doctor, elbows through the others to kneel beside Jared. “What’s he been given?” He sounds gruff, but Jared knows him well enough to know Cid’s gruffness isn’t directed at him. Cid’s trapped here for the same reason Jared is: the pernicious allergies that came at the same time as the bird flu. Even doctors die without a reliable source for the medicines needed to treat them and there are few enough places a reliable source can be found.

“Mrs. Lange gave me this when we questioned her.” Gina passes a small paper of white powder. “It’s some sort of Ecstasy/Rohypnol combo. No idea how strong or pure it is. They put it in the wine. I don’t know how much.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yes, I asked!” Gina’s voice breaks a little, torn between anger and worry. Her mouth flexes and Jared wonders why he never noticed before how beautiful her mouth is, lush and full, sweet looking like a plum. “Lange wasn’t sure. She said they got — carried away.”

Cid makes a disgusted noise and pulls Jared’s eyelids up to shine a small, bright light onto his pupils. The sharp stab of the light, the rough pressure of Cid’s fingers make Jared shudder and his cock jerk like a living thing. “It’s a pretty common reaction. I warned Claudia about it.” Cid glares over his shoulder at Gina. They’re not talking to him, but Jared gets the gist of it. His asthma meds and the date-rape drug have interacted to cause one of the worst attacks he’s ever had.

“Claudia didn’t know anything about it.” Gina bristles at the accusation. “The Langes took it on themselves. And have been banned for it.”

“Should be flogged,” Cid mutters, slipping a blood pressure cuff over Jared’s arm. Jared whimpers and turns his face away.

“Believe me, Cid, I wish I could.”

“Hurts,” Jared slurs, as the cuff inflates tight against his bicep. “Where’s Jen?”

Gina’s hand flirts over his hair like she wants to touch but is afraid to. “He’s coming, hon. Any second, I promise.”

“Well, his blood pressure’s normal. Jared. Do you know where you are?”

“Hell.” Jared writhes restlessly on the chaise.

Cid chuckles wryly. “And he seems fairly lucid. How’s Kitsch?” When Cid pulls back, the bulb of the blood pressure cuff dragging across the throw covering Jared’s lap, the medical condition of his lungs again takes a backseat to the more immediate needs of his dick. He needs… he needs Jensen. With the fog quickly fading from his brain, Jared’s driving need to be touched, for sex, rises to the forefront of all other desires.

“No!” Taylor’s raspy, drugged-out voice stills the room, distracting Jared from his own condition. He pushes up to see Michael backing away from the other divan, hands raised in surrender.

“Fine, kid. Lay there and suffer through it.” Weatherly turns on his heel and leaves the room, casting one last scathing glance at Jared in particular. “I hope you die of blue balls, you dumb, lovesick whore.”

Fuck. Jared pulls himself up higher and tries to peer through the milling people and candlelight to where Taylor’s lying. Through a gap in the crowd, Jared sees Taylor rocking from side to side, moaning softly, and one hand gripping his exposed cock tightly as he jacks hard through the shudders racking his body. “Jared…”

“Taylor,” Jared calls, throat dry and aching nearly as much as his burning cock, “T. It’s going to be okay, man. I promise. It’s gonna be all right.”

Taylor nods, his eyes bloodshot but steady, even from across the room.