WARNING: This is kinda'...implied graphic. You'll understand when you read it. Just wanted to give you fair warning, in case you squick.

Shoutouts!

itsasledgehammer: Yeah, KBlush is hard to find. I have one called I Wish I Was Queer So I Can Get Chicks. I don't remember if you've read that or not. But it's KBlush-y. NOT GABE DAMON! -sobs-

Slightly: A moment of silence for our fallen Brooklynite.

-silence-

DigitalAngel4U: Wow. I completely forgot about Davvy's existence! ... -evil grin- A plan has just formed, however.

Slightly: -rolls eyes- You're such a drama queen.

Shut it, you.

Nanii: Yay! You didn't die!

Maeko-Nohara: Aww...Interesting HOW! -freaks out-

Nosilla: Nozzy, dearest...You're scaring me.

Pancakes: Ick. There's that word again. "Cute." But they are, indeed, cute.

alesca munroe: Yeah, sorry babe, but I live in terror that I'll get an anonymous flame. One time I got a flame in Spanish! It was weird.

Unknown-Dreams: You are evil! You laugh at Spot's trauma! -chuckles- But I take advantage of it, so I guess I'm no better.

BoomerRang: Ben&Jerry's is icky compared to Maggie Moo's. But Coldstone rules the world!

"I have to hand it to ya, Race," Spot said as he and Race stepped into their dorm room. They had spent the entire day at Maggie Moo's, talking about everything and nothing. "That was good ice cream." Race chuckled.

"Told ya so." Spot yawned.

"I'm going to bed," he announced searching for his plaid pajama pants. Racetrack averted his eyes politely as Spot stripped down to his boxers and put on his pants. He never slept with a shirt, something that Racetrack had enjoyed immensely. (Though he never mentioned it to Spot.)

Spot fell asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow, and he began to dream.

Jack had him up against the wall, hands under his shirt. He pulled the shirt up past his nipples, and then back down again, his fingertips leaving faint white scratches across his skin. Grinning, he leaned forward and kissed Spot fiercely, thrusitng his hips forward. Spot tried to pull away, but he couldn't.

When Jack pulled away, his hair was spikey and black; his eyes were a pale blue, and a ring was piercing his eyebrow. He grinned wickedly, and terror shot through Spot's body. "You're a pretty little boy, Spot," he said softly, his hands moving down to the waistline of Spot's jeans. "A pretty little boy." He kept repeating it over and over again as he slowly unzipped Spot's jeans.

Icy hands dove under Spot's boxers and gripped him, as tears began pouring shamelessly down his cheeks. "Don't! Stop!" he cried, faintly, but he ignored Spot's pleas as he began to indulge himself in Spot.

"Spot," he hissed, grinning as he jerked painfully.

"Stop! Please!"

"Spot!"

"Don't! Get off!"

"SPOT!"

Spot jerked awake with a gasp, cold sweat covering his entire body. Racetrack was sitting on the bed, practically in his lap, looking white as a sheet with worry. Spot let out the breath he'd been unintentionally holding as his brain registered that he wasn't in any danger.

"You had a bad dream," Race said, quietly. Spot sagged forward and collapsed into Race's arms once again, tears flowing freely. Race murmured to him soothingly, rubbing his fingers over Spot's back in circles.

"It's all right," he whispered, rocking Spot slightly. He eased his position until his back was against the wall, Spot still in his embrace. Spot was sobbing quietly, and Race continued to whisper to him until he fell asleep.

Not wanting to disturb him, Race remained in his position for the night.