"No."

"Martinsson, just listen-"

"No."

They were coming out of a meeting, having discussed a variety of tactics to get more info on Bjorn Davidsson, perhaps the current most powerful drug dealer in Ystad. Word on the street was that Davidsson frequently enjoyed the company of the odd male prostitute. Someone male and relatively young. All they needed to do, Kurt said, was to have a person who fit that description go in and get it. Magnus had nodded absently at the suggestion before realizing that every eye in the room was focused on him.

"For the last time, Kurt, I said no," Magnus said firmly, walking in the other direction. "You can make me sort through files and do all the other shit you don't want to do but I'm not going to be your- your… rent boy." His nose wrinkled in disgust. He knew that Kurt disagreed more often than not with the way he did things- thought he was careless, youthfully arrogant, etc.—but he never thought that Wallander thought this lowly of him.

"You don't actually have to have sex with him for Christ's sake," Kurt argued as he followed him, clearly exasperated with the stubbornness of the young cadet. "All you need to do is get close enough to get information."

Magnus shot a desperate 'help me' look at Anne-Britt, who had been observing wordlessly from the sidelines. Her brow creased in clear sympathy.

"I know this is a completely awkward and unfair situation to put you in, Magnus," she said. Her eyes then flicked sternly over at Kurt. "And no one is going force you. But this may be the only way to gain intell on what we're up against here."

Magnus sighed and raked a hand through his curly hair. "It's instances like these that remind me why I became a detective," he said sarcastically.

. . .

The club Davidsson was a regular at was a notorious place to pick up prostitutes. Magnus lapped at his third drink, bored as his eyes scanned the club for Davidsson. No sign of the scumbag. He could feel a slight buzz settling into his system and he relaxed, drumming his fingers on the bar to the beat of the music. He knew that he shouldn't have been drinking while on duty but the total eventlessness of the night had driven him to it. It was around one-thirty and it looked like he was going to be able to get out of this after all. He'd stay five more minutes before going back to his apartment and collapsing on his mattress for a few hours of precious sleep before work tomorrow morning.

"Haven't seen you here before," mused a voice from next him.

Shit.

The young detective turned and forced a wry smile. It was definitely him; he had the same lank dark hair and ratty face Magnus had seen earlier in the photo Lisa had shown him that evening. He was surprised and a little unnerved that he hadn't even had to initiate contact—the pervert had found him first. Davidsson rested his hand on Magnus's leg, squeezing it. Magnus had never in his life flirted with another man before and the thought sickened him. It must have shown on his face because Davidsson raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

He tried to imagine that he was speaking to an attractive woman, not a greasy looking criminal who was surely old enough to be his father.

"I hear you have quite the reputation." Magnus bit his bottom lip, bringing his gaze up slowly to Davidsson's and holding it there. "To be honest I'm a little intimidated." Ugh, Magnus thought, wanting to gag. He was grossing himself out.

Judging by the other man's expression, flattery had definitely been the right way to go. The corner of the man's mouth curved upwards in a self-satisfied smirk, showing a brief glimpse of yellowing teeth.

"How much is it going to take for me to have you come back with me?"

Magnus internally panicked for a moment, cursing himself for not coming up with a determined number beforehand. How much did prostitutes usually cost? As a cop he felt like he should probably know, but instead it felt like he was on some cruel and demented version of The Price is Right.

"Why don't we figure it out later," he said, flashing him a grin.

Magnus must have been more tipsy than he had realized, because before he knew it he was in Davidsson's very large, ostentatious home. He had been trying to pry for information without success In the main bedroom, the man's fingers were starting to force themselves into the back of his jeans, grazing the crack of his ass and he froze. He hadn't planned for it to come this far.

"Don't tell me you're shy," Davidsson murmured into his ear, sounding aroused by the idea. Magnus shuddered at this, his skin crawling. He made a mental note to murder Kurt after he found his way out of this.

"So, tell me what you do, again?" The total un-subtlety of this was almost laughable, but right then Magnus could care less. The fact that he was essentially being molested rendered his brain nearly incapable of rational thought. All he wanted was to get the information and get out, fast.

He was caught off guard when Davidsson hit him across the face, without warning. Momentarily stunned, Davidsson grabbed his wrists and forced him on his back. "Fucking tease." That was enough. Magnus's police training kicked in and he kneed Davidsson sharply in the groin, sending him to the ground howling in agony. While he still had the opportunity Magnus retrieved his gun from the hidden holster on his ankle and slammed it down hard against his attacker's head.

Panting from the exertion, Magnus felt the tension slide from his shoulders when he saw the thin trickle of blood run down from Davidsson's temple- he would be out for awhile. Magnus stared down at the man in utter revulsion, fighting the urge to kick him there while he was lying helplessly on the carpet. They still had nothing on Davidsson. But Kurt could deal with it; Magnus wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

Putting his gun back in his holster, he stepped out cautiously into the hallway and assuming the house was otherwise empty, jogged down the stairs. Almost at the bottom, his heart climbed into his throat.

The man who walked out of the living room was a few inches taller than him, something Magnus was not used to in other people. His blond hair was tied in a short ponytail and his sky blue eyes were piercing, but not unkind. His thick muscles strained against the sleeves of his t-shirt; the man was clearly stronger than Davidsson and Magnus knew that he wouldn't be as easy to subdue. Magnus braced himself for a fight but the man only blinked.

"That didn't take long," he commented, sounding not at all surprise at his presence. Magnus's feet seemed to be rooted to the floor. He didn't respond. For some reason, his tongue, usually so quick and sharp, felt thick and useless in his mouth, unable to come up with something to say. The stranger's brow furrowed. "Wait, you did, you know, didn't you-?"

"Of course not," Magnus interrupted him in an affronted way and crossed his arms. He realized far too late he was still supposed to be acting like he was used to the idea of sleeping with strangers for money.

The other man chuckled lightly and gave him an amused smile. "He wasn't your type?"

"That's none of your business," he retorted, far past his thresh-hold for being treated like shit. He regarded the stranger warily. "Who are you?"

"I might ask you the same question," the man answered, a glitter in his eye. "If I didn't already know the answer." Magnus's heart skipped a beat before feeling his face redden at his own stupidity. Of course this man didn't actually know his real identity. Davidsson buying prostitutes was a regular occurrence and this man only assumed that he was one of them.

"I take it you're his bodyguard, or something."

The man gave an easy shrug, his eyes searing into Magnus's. "You could say that." He was wearing a white t-shirt that emphasized his muscles and Magnus could make out the outlines of his abs. Magnus swayed unsteadily on his feet, wishing, not for the first time that night, that he hadn't drank so much.

The next thing he knew, they were on the sofa, the man's body burning and intoxicatingly hot against his. Felt the rock solid bulge against his lower abdomen and the rough stubble scratching against his neck. When he remembered that the creep Davidsson was still knocked out upstairs it excited him even more. This man thought he was a whore and Magnus felt like one. Secretly horrified, Magnus felt his hips involuntarily thrusting up to meet the stranger's touch. A high-pitched whine escaped him when the man suddenly pulled away and he was sure he had never hated himself as much as he did in that moment.

"Turn over," the man ordered, his low voice sending chills up his spine. The front door was ten feet away. He could make it if he slipped out right now.

Magnus obeyed.

What are you doing? his mind was shouting at him.

His belt and jeans were tugged off in a matter of seconds and he heard his gun become loose and fall on the floor to rest a few feet away, but the other man didn't seem to notice. The huge hands spread him open and he shivered, everything feeling impossibly surreal. He heard the drawer of the table near them open and shut loudly. Breathing rapidly into the couch cushion, he wondered what was happening behind him when he felt a slippery, thick finger touch his opening, circling the tight ring of muscle teasingly and he tensed out of instinct. This couldn't be happening. He was straight; he liked women. The finger pushed slowly though his natural resistance, into his hole. It wasn't painful, exactly. Just discomforting. It felt foreign and strange and it didn't belong there— all of this was unnatural and he knew he shouldn't let this stranger do this to him but all Magnus did was grip the sheets around him, panting hard. Another finger sank inside of him to join the other and started to stretch him there. He tried to relax but every muscle in his body was coiled tightly in anticipation and fear and something else he didn't want to admit to himself.

Then the man rutted into him in one rough, sudden stroke.

Magnus screamed into the couch. It hurt. In fact, it was, without question, the worst pain he had ever experienced in his life, and sobered him up instantly. A strangled, choking sound tore out of his throat and the man stilled, presumably giving him time to adjust. Magnus felt his body clench automatically on the huge thing inside of him, trying to reject it- to get it out of him. Raw panic rose up in his chest and he couldn't breathe, tears meandering out of the corners of his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He sounded concerned.

"S-stop," he gasped, struggling to get out from under the man's weight. "Stop, take it out." The stranger pulled out immediately and Magnus's body stiffened from the sharp throbbing pain of it.

"You're bleeding…" The man's voice was soft and quiet and had an edge of surprise to it. It was almost like he was sorry. "I don't understand-"

Magnus pulled up his jeans and miraculously remembering to retrieve his gun from the floor and shoving it into his jacket pocket before the man could notice. With that, he ran out of the house and didn't look back.

Limping gingerly down the street, his entire body was just one unbearable ache. Physically, he felt torn. The sex, if he could even call it that, hadn't lasted long at all but he felt irreparably damaged somehow. Humiliated and ashamed that he had let himself be used like that by a complete and total stranger… and when he was supposed to having been doing his job. He would certainly be fired if anyone from the department ever found out. He was truly a disgrace.

But lucky though, all things considered. His gun had been lying across the floor. The man could have not listened to him when he'd told him to stop, could have raped him if he had really wanted to.

Magnus pulled his jacket closer around him, shivering in the frigid air as a taxi pulled up beside him.

. . .

When Kurt approached him the next morning at the station, Magnus tried to curb the resentment that immediately boiled up inside him. Wallander had no fucking clue what he'd put him through last night.

"Well, did you learn anything?"

More than you'd think, he thought dryly, shame pooling in his stomach.

"Not much," Magnus admitted. He gave what he hoped looked like a casual glance at the chief inspector before fixing his attention back on his untouched toast. "He's well off, lives downtown and prominent enough to have protection."

"Good work, Magnus." He felt Kurt studying him closely for a moment, as though he were a specimen under a microscope, and ignored it. "Try going through Davidsson's background again. See if there's anything we've missed."

"On it." He abandoned his shallow attempt at a breakfast and grabbed the big stack of papers on Davidsson, heading towards his desk. Now on his way away from Wallander, he exhaled. It was time to get over this, blame it on the alcohol and push last night out of his mind for good. As far as he was concerned, it had never happened. It was behind him now and he never had to think about it again. As long as he focused and threw himself into his work, he'd be fine.

Anne-Britt walked suddenly through the door, practically glowing with triumph. "Attention everyone! We now have an inside source on Davidsson. He's agreed to be our eyes and ears in exchange for leniency on some…" She hesitated for a second. "… on some pending charges. Please give him your full cooperation."

Magnus turned along with everyone else to look at the tall, blond visitor. The folder he had been holding dropped promptly from his hands, sending papers all over the floor. He couldn't hear Kurt snapping at him for his clumsiness, the blood was pounding so hard in his ears.

Those piercing blue eyes then locked with his, narrowing slowly in recognition.

Oh… fuck.