He remembered the first time. Vaguely. But he remembered.
He had had too many drinks, and somehow he had handcuffed himself. How - God only knew. Anyway, Tom had driven him home, had helped him out of the car and into his rooms, and had, pretending to be looking for the keys, pushed him onto his bed. Hands closely tied under him, Gavin had closed his eyes, blindly trusting his superior's words and permitting himself to doze off.
And then, Tom had done something unexpected. Something so out of place it hit Gavin much too late. Through most of it, he was wondering if it was really happening or if he was imagining things - and then he realised what was going on and wanted to shout but found that he could not. Later, he was not even able to say if he had kept quiet because he had wanted to avoid being found in that situation or if Tom's fist had beaten all resistance out of him. Fear, pain, disgrace. He had felt dizzy and weak. And then it was over.
"You know what'll happen to your career if you tell anybody," Tom had said in his usual calm voice. Still, the underlying threat could not go unmissed, and Gavin had nodded.
Gulping, he had tried to get up, pain numbing his body, and more on instinct, he had whispered, "You hurt me" at which Tom had laughed. A cruel, heartless, maybe even satisfied, laughter and Gavin had fallen quiet again.

That was how it had started. And it had not nearly been like the events that followed, Gavin thought. He had really believed that it was over, that one dark episode in their working together would be it, could be put down as a one-off and could slowly be forgotten or at least locked away in his memory forever. But he had been wrong.
With a shiver, he remembered the next time Tom Barnaby abused him.
"You know what, Troy? I always thought I could truly rely on you," he said, and naïve as he was, Gavin eagerly declared that Tom could rely on him. The wrongest thing to say.
"Is that so?" Barnaby stared at him, and Gavin nodded. After all, they were a good team. Even 'that night' had not changed that, he had made sure. Professional on the job - denying what a loser he was off it.
"Lie back."

The younger man shivered. Images of that summer night forced their way back to his mind. He knew that he should not have drunk so much - but hey, with your DCI watching, you kind of felt safe. Or so he had thought and drunk far too much. The stress of the previous days, the guilt he had felt toward the victim he had not been able to rescue and the regret of losing another girlfriend to the job he loved (a regret he had tried to deny) had paved the way to it. And for a while he had been happy. The booze had given him a warm feeling of comfort, and Barnaby had patiently listened to his prattle. He had felt secure. That had been the worst bit.

Barnaby had driven him home, let them into his flat and even supported his unsteady walk. He had avoided the couch and other pieces of furniture and Gavin had, numbed thought that he was merely trying to stop him from walking into things. The sad truth was that all the time his boss had only wanted him in his bedroom - on his bed and out of his pants.

Gavin tensed and squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to remember.

"Gavin!" A sharp voice hissed and he was back. Back there in his bedroom. Memories of a sudden fear and panic swept back brutally and he gulped. He had been sober instantly. The very instant that Barnaby had hit his face he had been wide awake. Panic had taken over when he realised that he had been handcuffed. He had known that this was no ordinary situation anymore and he had known what was about to happen. On instinct, he had tried to wiggle away but the older man had held him and started beating him.

Scared to death he had stopped struggling, faintly hoping to get away - but the stranger that Tom Barnaby, his DCI, had become, had had no intention of letting go. He had rolled him over. Gavin had tasted his own blood and prayed it would end. Barnaby had stripped him, bending his cuffed hands toward his neck that it hurt, and then he had raped him.

The younger man gulped again and closed his eyes, managing a low, "What?" in reaction to his superior asking his name.
"Go on. Move your seat."
"Why, sir?" His voice sounded weak, frightened maybe, and Barnaby smiled and told him that it was alright. Nothing was going to happen to him. And again he was stupid enough to believe him.