It was mostly like a hangover at first. He woke up with a sore body, blinding headache and his eyes wouldn't open. It wasn't until he felt something his mouth that he even remembered what had happened. He forced his eyes open and properly looked around. He was in his apartment, he was stuck to his bed - cuffs, definitely cuffs - and his pants were around his legs. Well, at this point, around one leg.
This was bad. This was really bad. It was Cheon, wasn't it? What even happened? God, his mind was racing through a hundred things. He was injected, the car, he couldn't breathe - and the party. Oh God.
He had a camera.
Sam had no idea how to get himself out of this, he couldn't tell if he even had his phone anywhere and he really wanted this gag out because he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. How screwed was he?
Unfortunately it took another half an hour or so before there was a sound by the door. Barty knocked, then called out. "Sam?! Sam, if you are in there and you don't want me coming in, I don't give a fuck."
He was not about to respect Sam's rules regarding their interactions right now, instead he was already kneeling down to pick the lock. He had only heard rumours, nothing substantial. Maybe Sam was simply in there, entirely fine and very angry with him for invading. He would prefer that to any of what he feared.
What was worse right now? Gene or Barty ... good question. Probably Gene, honestly. He didn't even want to know what Gene would think. Probably that he was less of a man, letting this sort of thing happen to himself. And given he had the chance to escape and fucking blew it, he wouldn't blame him.
Not that Barty was the ideal but better the devil you know. And Barty might be fucking smug about being right but at least he could maybe keep this to himself while Sam tried to work this all out.
He had to get that camera off Cheon before he spread it around.
Barty finished picking the lock and got up, walking through the door. He immediately assessed the situation, eyebrows going up. All right. Less surprising than it should be. "...good morning."
Not so much, he supposed. He made sure the door was shut behind him, then approached the bed. Deciding to be nice, he pulled up Sam's pants first of all, helping out his dignity by making sure he was at least semi covered. Then he reached for the gag strap, frowning. "He's locked that on? What, were you being mouthy?"
Seemed like overkill. He gestured to the tiny kitchen. "I know you wanted me to never touch your good knives, but I'm going to get one now to cut through this. Objections?"
This was definitely the most embarrassing moment of his life. And he once wet the bed at a sleepover. Good to see that no matter how old you get, you can still top old experiences. He really didn't want Barty here, he wasn't to handle this all himself. His head was hurting so badly, his arms were aching and he really wanted a shower.
He shook his head. Zero objections. He needed to get out of this before he panicked again. It kept happening. Every now and again, his heart rate spiked and he freaked out but he assumed that was the drugs. It was normal.
Barty returned to the bed, carrying one of the knives with him. He carefully moved it next to Sam's head, so he would really only cut the gag strap. "Hold still, darling, please."
He hadn't meant to call him that, he didn't even realise he was doing it. Seeing Sam like this, needing him and clearly vulnerable, he automatically wanted to take care of him. It put him back into the mindset of when they were last together.
It took a lot of manoeuvring, but finally he managed to cut the gag off. He pulled it out of Sam's mouth and simply dropped it to the ground, pressing two fingers to the side of Sam's throat. "He drugged you, didn't he?" Fairly obvious. Barty was going to kill Cheon for this.
"I think it was crystal meth." Sam explained through his hoarse throat as he used his legs to try and push himself up a little but it was hard, with the angle of the cuffs. "I don't think he left the keys..." So he assumed Barty was going to have to pick his locks on those too. He licked his lips and took a very deep breath because he kept feeling like he couldn't get one.
"It's all under control, I just need these off and I will sort it."
Somehow. What the fuck was he supposed to do? His stomach rolled again and he clamped his eyes shut. "If you could undo them quick, I'd really appreciate it. I think I'm going to be sick and I want to avoid the bed."
"I'll try to be speedy. Although I'll say that your version of 'under control' is very different from my version." Unless Sam meant that he was no under Cheon's control. He supposed on that front, things really might just be all sorted. Fuck.
He patted himself down, looking through various coat pockets. "Most of these cuffs use similar keys. Let's see."
Barty had found a small key, which he used on the cuffs now. It needed some fiddling around, but eventually the handcuffs did spring open and Sam was free. "No need to thank me. Unless you're feeling it."
Of course. He carried cuff keys around. God, he fucking hated him. Sam scrambled, eager to just get up and off the bed, he basically sprinted off it so fast, he lost his balance entirely and crashed onto the floor. God, his head hurt so bad and the motion of falling kept him hunched on the floor, unable to get himself back up.
Why was the world like this? Every time he had a win, someone had to fucking take it from him. "You can fuck off now, you've had a look."
He really didn't want Barty to see him like this. It was embarrassing.
"Don't be ridiculous, Sam." Barty had already filled the kettle and after putting it on to boil, he bent down next to Sam, reaching for his arm so he could help him up. "You can't be alone right now, you might have averse reactions or after-effects still, you know that. Do you need to be sick?"
He was ready to lead him to the bathroom. "That wasn't just crystal meth. Cheon's part of the Dark Dragons, they are big in South Korea. Do a lot with drugs. That was definitely laced with something. Make it more addictive." More of an aphrodisiac too, but he didn't say that out loud.
That explained why his brain was already itching like crazy and telling him that if he just had more, he wouldn't be in this sort of pain. He knew that was an awful idea but there was part of him that was tempted. Anything to get rid of the headache. He had anxiety surging through him and he couldn't get certain things out of his head.
He could still see Cheon over him and he didn't want to see it. "I need a shower." Cheon fucked him, didn't he? Cheon fucked him on camera. What was he supposed to do about that.
Pushing himself up, he stabilised himself on the wall to get up without help. "I'll shower and -- and then it's fine."
"I'll take you to a hospital, Sam. You need to get that stuff out of your system." The faster the better, just in case. Might make it a bit easier to deal with the long-term effects too. "And you need to get tested."
Barty watched Sam, wanting to help him more. He didn't think that Sam would be able to shower properly right now. "At least shower sitting down, aye? I'm assuming I can't offer assistance with it."
Not that he expected that would be especially erotic, given what a state Sam was in.
"I'm not going to a hospital. No, this is not going beyond this room. No one at my work will know, no one I know will know. This stays between us and -- and Cheon, that bastard. I will sort it out, I'll get the footage and we--we-we pretend it never happened." Sam suggested, somewhat manic in his movements as he laughed a panicked laugh and started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Or he tried, it was hard with shaking hands.
"It can't be reported. It's fine, I know about drugs. I did courses on them. It's possible to get through a meth crash with the right tools." That a hospital had but he could do it at home. He just had to be careful. Hundreds of thousands of people did meth and survived. He would too.
Barty watched him, at the ready so he could move forward and step in should it be necessary. Which he deemed to happen very fast, because he was losing his patience watching Sam fumble around with those buttons. He moved forward and slapped his hands away, undoing the buttons for him. "Your work is going to notice something is off, Sam. You're not that odd usually."
Well. "Almost, but not quite. And how exactly do you plan on getting that footage? You know Cheon wants you to play ball."
Which he knew Sam was never going to do. "One step after another, darling. Let's get you showered, aye? Then we can discuss it."
"People don't have to know or... God, they'll suspend me."
He was so thrown by the horror of being benched by his work that he didn't even protest Barty undoing his buttons for him. Once they were done, he shrugged the shirt off and ran his fingers through his hair. He was still sweating like crazy and he hadn't even had time to think about the 'getting tested' comment because his brain was swimming in a stew of chemicals.
"I don't want anyone to know." He looked at Barty and suddenly desperation made his voice crack, his eyes welling with tears. "I really don't. Please."
"Shh, darling. It's all right. It will all be all right." Barty didn't exactly know how, but he could hope. Take it step by step. For now he helped Sam take his pants off and then he helped him into the shower. He made sure he was leaning properly against the wall before he started the water. It couldn't hurt, at the very least, to allow him to wash. "I won't tell anyone."
And he was going to handle Cheon. Very quickly and very efficiently. He had messed with the wrong cop, sick bastard.
Barty used the shampoo, gently washing Sam's hair for him. "You'll have to call out of work."
"It can be a secret. I can find the footage, I can-- he won't put it online, will he?" Oh God, the idea scared the hell out of him. He got rid of the soap in his hair quickly. He tilted his head back and let the water hit him in the face because he wanted to try and hide from Barty that he was crying. He didn't know if it was helping, given the sobs were making his chest heave.
It was going to be fine, he would make sure of it. He just had to keep covering it up. "I'll text Gene. I dunno where my phone is... he took it from me."
"Your phone will be somewhere here. Just like they cleaned up properly. They are covering their tracks." No way there would be any semen traces left behind or anything, for better or worse. Barty knew who it was, he'd make sure he'd suffer for it. He didn't care how thorough they might have been.
All he cared about was pulling Sam into his arms and holding him close, even if that meant he was slowly getting soaked. "He won't put it online. He just wants it as insurance."
That was how it always worked. "Threatening your career, family, relationships."
"Fuck." He didn't really want to cry in Barty's arms but apparently that was what he was doing. Shit, he was soaking Barty's clothes too. He was really holding his shit together today, huh? This was humiliating and he had no idea what the hell his next step was. Tell Gene he was sick and hope he actually left him alone? How did he even begin to explain this to Gene?
"I still hate that you were right." Sam muttered as he pulled back from Barty and ran his hand over his face. "Pisses me off to no end."
"If it helps, darling, it's not as if I knew that it would lead to this. I'd have never let them touch you if I had known. No matter how stubborn you'd have been about it." Somewhat right, but not right enough. He kept a hand on Sam's arm, just in case. "Come on. Let's get you dried and dressed and then we can figure out what's next."
Unfortunately no change of clothes for him, so that was bound to get clammy. Well, one problem at a time.
As Sam left the shower, he grabbed a towel and dried his hair first, tying it around his waist as he looked at Barty for a moment. Well, given he was here for him, as fucking always, and offering to help him then he may as well relent on something. "I didn't... I didn't toss all your shit out like I said I did."
Okay, he was pathetic. He kept Barty's stuff. Whatever. He was already a pathetic loser right now, why not add to it?
He walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet, gesturing at the bottom shelf inside. "In the ASDA bag. I think you left some joggers here before. Some t-shirts. Was gonna toss 'em but..." The feelings won out. "No time."
"That's handy." That was also making him feel so many things that his heart was going crazy from it, but he was trying to play it cool. What he wanted was to kiss Sam right now. Would it be so wrong?
For the moment, he took the bag and set it down on the ground, then began unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes on Sam, who was getting dressed. "Thank you for not tossing it. I like those joggers."
Not that he was really lacking clothes, but this was different. These were the ones he wore the most around Sam. "I've stopped, you know?" He shrugged out of his wet shirt and folded it up to set it aside. "Because you told me it bothers you. I've stopped fucking around."
"I have trouble letting go of things." Sam knew that was true or he wouldn't still have his dad's jacket stashed in the same wardrobe too. Besides, he had known Barty since they were 15 and he had loved him not much longer after that. When they finally did get together, it felt incredible. Removing Barty from his life was near impossible. So what if he kept his hoodie and sometimes slept with it. It was how he coped.
Sam finished pulling on his shirt and then sat on the bed, his pyjama pants in his hands.
"Apparently I've started. Bad timing there." He smiled sadly and then shrugged his shoulders. "You can sleep around, it's your business."
"It's not. Not if it hurts you. Or if it makes you do insane things like subject poor women to dates with you." Barty pulled on one of the T-shirts and then undid his jeans, not really feeling like having this conversation while in his pants. Apparently it was what they were doing though. "None of what I did--"
How much could he even get into this? It was pointless anyway. He focused on what mattered. "I never lied about how I felt. I love you. I don't think I can ever not love you."
"Trouble is, you think that's the problem. I know you loved me, you know I loved you. You lied to me. You broke my trust. You fucking used me. You know I never wanted to be bent and you made me bent." And whether or not Barty intended it for the greater good or whatever he thought he was doing for the city, it was a violation. And he was still struggling with it.
He gave up on pants and looked aimlessly around the room, unable to find any energy to stand and look for his phone. "You made a fool. Why? I don't get why you would do it. If you loved me, you loved me poorly."
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This was bad. This was really bad. It was Cheon, wasn't it? What even happened? God, his mind was racing through a hundred things. He was injected, the car, he couldn't breathe - and the party. Oh God.
He had a camera.
Sam had no idea how to get himself out of this, he couldn't tell if he even had his phone anywhere and he really wanted this gag out because he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. How screwed was he?
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He was not about to respect Sam's rules regarding their interactions right now, instead he was already kneeling down to pick the lock. He had only heard rumours, nothing substantial. Maybe Sam was simply in there, entirely fine and very angry with him for invading. He would prefer that to any of what he feared.
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Not that Barty was the ideal but better the devil you know. And Barty might be fucking smug about being right but at least he could maybe keep this to himself while Sam tried to work this all out.
He had to get that camera off Cheon before he spread it around.
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Not so much, he supposed. He made sure the door was shut behind him, then approached the bed. Deciding to be nice, he pulled up Sam's pants first of all, helping out his dignity by making sure he was at least semi covered. Then he reached for the gag strap, frowning. "He's locked that on? What, were you being mouthy?"
Seemed like overkill. He gestured to the tiny kitchen. "I know you wanted me to never touch your good knives, but I'm going to get one now to cut through this. Objections?"
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He shook his head. Zero objections. He needed to get out of this before he panicked again. It kept happening. Every now and again, his heart rate spiked and he freaked out but he assumed that was the drugs. It was normal.
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He hadn't meant to call him that, he didn't even realise he was doing it. Seeing Sam like this, needing him and clearly vulnerable, he automatically wanted to take care of him. It put him back into the mindset of when they were last together.
It took a lot of manoeuvring, but finally he managed to cut the gag off. He pulled it out of Sam's mouth and simply dropped it to the ground, pressing two fingers to the side of Sam's throat. "He drugged you, didn't he?" Fairly obvious. Barty was going to kill Cheon for this.
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"It's all under control, I just need these off and I will sort it."
Somehow. What the fuck was he supposed to do? His stomach rolled again and he clamped his eyes shut. "If you could undo them quick, I'd really appreciate it. I think I'm going to be sick and I want to avoid the bed."
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He patted himself down, looking through various coat pockets. "Most of these cuffs use similar keys. Let's see."
Barty had found a small key, which he used on the cuffs now. It needed some fiddling around, but eventually the handcuffs did spring open and Sam was free. "No need to thank me. Unless you're feeling it."
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Why was the world like this? Every time he had a win, someone had to fucking take it from him. "You can fuck off now, you've had a look."
He really didn't want Barty to see him like this. It was embarrassing.
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He was ready to lead him to the bathroom. "That wasn't just crystal meth. Cheon's part of the Dark Dragons, they are big in South Korea. Do a lot with drugs. That was definitely laced with something. Make it more addictive." More of an aphrodisiac too, but he didn't say that out loud.
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He could still see Cheon over him and he didn't want to see it. "I need a shower." Cheon fucked him, didn't he? Cheon fucked him on camera. What was he supposed to do about that.
Pushing himself up, he stabilised himself on the wall to get up without help. "I'll shower and -- and then it's fine."
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Barty watched Sam, wanting to help him more. He didn't think that Sam would be able to shower properly right now. "At least shower sitting down, aye? I'm assuming I can't offer assistance with it."
Not that he expected that would be especially erotic, given what a state Sam was in.
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"It can't be reported. It's fine, I know about drugs. I did courses on them. It's possible to get through a meth crash with the right tools." That a hospital had but he could do it at home. He just had to be careful. Hundreds of thousands of people did meth and survived. He would too.
"It's all gonna be fine."
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Well. "Almost, but not quite. And how exactly do you plan on getting that footage? You know Cheon wants you to play ball."
Which he knew Sam was never going to do. "One step after another, darling. Let's get you showered, aye? Then we can discuss it."
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He was so thrown by the horror of being benched by his work that he didn't even protest Barty undoing his buttons for him. Once they were done, he shrugged the shirt off and ran his fingers through his hair. He was still sweating like crazy and he hadn't even had time to think about the 'getting tested' comment because his brain was swimming in a stew of chemicals.
"I don't want anyone to know." He looked at Barty and suddenly desperation made his voice crack, his eyes welling with tears. "I really don't. Please."
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And he was going to handle Cheon. Very quickly and very efficiently. He had messed with the wrong cop, sick bastard.
Barty used the shampoo, gently washing Sam's hair for him. "You'll have to call out of work."
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It was going to be fine, he would make sure of it. He just had to keep covering it up. "I'll text Gene. I dunno where my phone is... he took it from me."
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All he cared about was pulling Sam into his arms and holding him close, even if that meant he was slowly getting soaked. "He won't put it online. He just wants it as insurance."
That was how it always worked. "Threatening your career, family, relationships."
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"I still hate that you were right." Sam muttered as he pulled back from Barty and ran his hand over his face. "Pisses me off to no end."
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Unfortunately no change of clothes for him, so that was bound to get clammy. Well, one problem at a time.
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Okay, he was pathetic. He kept Barty's stuff. Whatever. He was already a pathetic loser right now, why not add to it?
He walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet, gesturing at the bottom shelf inside. "In the ASDA bag. I think you left some joggers here before. Some t-shirts. Was gonna toss 'em but..." The feelings won out. "No time."
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For the moment, he took the bag and set it down on the ground, then began unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes on Sam, who was getting dressed. "Thank you for not tossing it. I like those joggers."
Not that he was really lacking clothes, but this was different. These were the ones he wore the most around Sam. "I've stopped, you know?" He shrugged out of his wet shirt and folded it up to set it aside. "Because you told me it bothers you. I've stopped fucking around."
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Sam finished pulling on his shirt and then sat on the bed, his pyjama pants in his hands.
"Apparently I've started. Bad timing there." He smiled sadly and then shrugged his shoulders. "You can sleep around, it's your business."
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How much could he even get into this? It was pointless anyway. He focused on what mattered. "I never lied about how I felt. I love you. I don't think I can ever not love you."
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He gave up on pants and looked aimlessly around the room, unable to find any energy to stand and look for his phone. "You made a fool. Why? I don't get why you would do it. If you loved me, you loved me poorly."
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