Author's note ~ I hope you enjoy.

Obstinate in his decision, confident that this was the right choice, the tense indecision he'd carried since the night before dissolved at the simplicity of the solution.

What could possibly go wrong?

Newt felt really positive about his plan for dealing with his mild personal epiphany. Settled, finally steady and truly grateful for it, he took his preferred spot in the map room, diligently working as the other runners trickled into the building. For all that he'd found nothing new today his sanguine new outlook about his own issues bled over into the work, and had him optimistic that perhaps a new clue or bit of information was closer than they thought. The heavy metal of the door screeched as it was pulled closed, sealing them all inside.

Shuffling feet and the sharp tang of sweat, coupled with the familiar persistent smell of rust, filled the air as the last few plopped down to work on the next step. It was a distinctive smell found only here, in this odd little metal building that predated their arrival in the glade. An aura of intense concentration fell, the only sound now the scratching of pencil on coarse paper as each sketched the route their feet had followed during the day. He drew the map with painstaking precision, the result of more than a year of careful training and conditioning. His pencil moved as though on autopilot, his eyes seeing phantom images of the twists and turns instead of the yellowed sheet of paper in front of him. Once he'd detailed the last corridor, darkened the final line, he sat back and stretched his back. Knowing better than to disturb the others while they were working, he studied his own sketch, looking for any glaring patterns or discernible differences from the ones he'd made, a hundred times or more before.

All he noticed was a blank four inch square at the bottom of his page, space unneeded by his diagram.

Letting it all circle and stew in his head, hoping something would stand out to him if he let it blur just a little, he picked up his pencil again and started to mindlessly doodle in the unmarked corner of the paper. He often did this if he was finished his cartography early, using the quiet time to let his mind wander in hopes of stumbling across some small spattering of inspiration useful to their perennial quest.

Animals, food and cartoon images showed up more often than not on his finished maps. But he liked drawing faces most of all, especially of the people he knew best. Rudimentary, sketchy and no where near polished, his little caricatures were none the less instantly recognizable to anyone who looked at them. Many a map featured a sarcastic doodle of their own keeper doing or saying something ridiculous, his face usually stretched into an overblown smarmy smile. But it wasn't a goofy image of Minho that ended up staring back at Newt from his page today.

It was Addy.

While a tad concerned that he'd drawn the familiar face without any clear intentions to do so, Newt shrugged the feeling off. Only runners were allowed in here, the map room, the heart of their search operation. No one would see it but him, except maybe the handful of others in his vocation. Where was the harm?

With a sudden mischievous flash, Newt bent closer to the paper and carefully added an oversized poofy hat to the drawing's head, a wooden spoon to his hand, and delicately scratched out an overblown frilly apron to polish it off. Sublimely sure that the man would never lay eyes on it he added a speech bubble and, making the letters as feminine as he could, a humorous quote above the doodle's head. Lost in the moment, wearing a huge smile of delight at the foolishness of the image, he started adding little bows and clips to the hair.

"So what's my catchphrase today, oh artistic one?"

Newt hastily tried to cover the drawing with his arm, but Minho was too quick for him and nipped the sheet of paper away.

"Oh, call me Mary?!" Minho crowed, his whole frame shaking with laughter as he pointed at the cartoon. "Isn't that just precious! I can't wait to see what Mr. expert-on-absolutely-everything thinks about this!"

"Min! You wouldn't!" Newt growled darkly, glaring daggers at his friend. "You know no non-runners have access to the maps! You made that bloody rule yourself!"

"Ah yes, but for a masterpiece like this," Minho cackled, his eyes dancing as he gleefully turned the screw. "I may just have to make an exception. Wouldn't he be so proud of his little Newtie's adorable little doodle? Wouldn't he want to hang it on his wall?"

Newt plowed his fist into Minho's gut, pulling his punch substantially but putting enough muscle behind it to knock the keeper back a full step as he snatched the map from where it dangled in those taunting fingers.

"You can be such a bloody shank sometimes, you know." He muttered, turning and tucking the map into the trunk designated for that particular section of the maze. Latching it firmly, he was surprised to see that they were alone in the map room. He turned back to Minho, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

"You were off in la-la land when everyone else finished up." Minho explained, punching Newt in the shoulder in a friendly way, making them even. Still wearing that elated grin, he swung an arm around Newt's shoulders and goose stepped him out of the building. "If you'd been much longer, I'd have started chowing down on the maps in desperation; I'm starved! Let's go see what Mary's come up with for supper, hey?"

"Yeah, right, sure. Why don't you try calling him Mary to his face, huh? I'd love to see the look on yours when he takes a bloody bite out of you."

"I think I will, Newt m'lad. Y'never know, he might just like it!"

Newt rolled his eyes at the innuendo.

"Aww now, don't be jealous." Minho crooned, patting Newt's shoulder in a patronizing way. "It's not my fault that I'm so deliciously appealing. Alas! Even if he falls for my obvious charms, he's doomed to have his delicate heart shattered. While I've got no problem with men loving men, my body belongs solely to those of the female persuasion. And I could never give my love to just one – I must share it with all! As soon as we get outta here, I'll doubtless have lines of lovely ladies waiting to throw themselves at my feet!"

"Or lined up to throw themselves in front of a train, when they see the size of your head." Newt's pithy remark went unnoticed as Minho waxed poetic about the girls, girls, girls who'd beg for a piece of his time. He ducked out from under his arm, giving his keeper an irritated but affectionate shove, breaking him out of his absurd fantasy and bringing him back to the here and now.

"Food now?"

"Oh shuck yeah. Food now."

Newt woke abruptly in the middle of the night, his heart thundering and his skin clammy. Despite his muscle aches and pains after a long day of running, he'd dropped like a stone as soon as he curled up in his hammock. Now, with the glade silent around him and the darkness laying like a heavy blanket over everything, he was jerked out of his slumber by the vivid images running through his head. It wasn't a nightmare, though. No, a nightmare would have been easier to shake off.

This was a dream of an entirely different character.

The memory, fresh and new and crystal clear, taken by his imagination and extended, edited, the sights and sounds playing over and over in his head until he gasped his way awake. Embarrassed even with the anonymity granted by the dark, fully awake and achingly aroused, he chewed his lip as he pondered how to handle the result of the powerful dream.

Unable to ignore the tension, he saw no other choice than to take care of it himself. He slid a hand down and palmed his throbbing erection through his boxers, a little huff of air escaping his lips as he made contact. It wasn't weird, he assured himself, clenching his jaw as he freed himself from the restrictive cloth. The others never appeared to have any problem giving themselves a hand in the dark, why should I feel self-conscious? His toes curled into the canvas of the hammock as he started to stroke himself.

It's not like they could see anything in the dark, anyway.

It's not like they knew what had gotten him going.

It's perfectly natural, just a guy, taking care of an itch.

He'd deal with it, and move on.

A week later Newt's positive mood had long since gone sour.

Every night. He thought sourly as he jogged back into the glade at the end of another long, sweaty day. Every. Bloody. Night.

Every night he'd drop into bed exhausted, dreadfully in need of a good night's sleep. Every night, the torturous dreams would rip him awake, leaving his brain weary and his body begging for release. And every night, he'd try to relieve the persistent urge that plagued him.

He'd yet to be successful.

Before Wes's gang had taken such an invasive interest in him, having a wank had never been a particularly regular event for him. The need to do so was rare, and more often ignored than not. Since the assault had started, even before that screamingly painful night, he just hadn't felt the urge at all. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, he'd wonder if there was something wrong with him. Most of the others had nearly nightly personal ministrations, what was wrong with him that he wasn't remotely interested in doing the same?

Now, just when it seemed his bodily needs had woken up and begun to match up with those of the rest of the guys around him, he found himself unable to finish the deed. He knew what to do; he wasn't a prude, or an idiot. He'd try to take care of it, feel himself get tantalizingly close to completion, and without fail he'd get a sneering image of Wes in his head. The memory of his sour, stale breath, the feeling of cruelly careless hands on his body, the shocking pain of being invaded. His stomach would clench and roll, his skin would go cold and clammy, and he would end up sick, shaky and frustratingly unsatisfied.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

Every day – and agonizing night – that passed left him more cranky and aggravated than the one before, and his temper got shorter with each unsuccessful attempt. His vexation did not go unnoticed.

Minho detained Newt at the map room after the blonde had snapped at another runner over some harmlessly frivolous comment. Once all the others were gone, Minho slammed the door and turned to his friend.

"What the shuck is going on with you, man?" Minho demanded, no trace of his usual joking manner on his stony face. "You snap and snarl at me, at the others, you're broody and pissy. You chew at Jack for some eye-rolling remark about making wings and 'flying outta here'. What's going on in that slint head of yours?!"

"I'm fine. I'm doing my bloody job. What more do you want? Defend that idiot Jack if you want, I'm out of here. I'm shuckin' done with this for today." Newt grumbled crossly, moving to push past the keeper and escape from the room. Minho stopped him with a hard hand on his shoulder, refusing to let him pass. Newt's hand balled into a fist and he raised it, wound tight as a drum and ready to brawl. Minho didn't even flinch. Newt just managed to stop his fist a scant few inches from connecting with Minho's angry, confused – and concerned – face.

What am I doing?!

He dropped his arm and stepped back, holding his hands out in front of him, misery and apology all over his face.

"I'm sorry. God, Min, I'm sorry. That was way out of line."

"What's going on with you?" Minho asked again, the hard demanding tone gone, worry dripping from the words. "If you need a break, I'll rearrange the schedule, give you some time out of the maze. Just tell me what you need. Are you sick?"

"No, I'm not sick. Or" Newt let out a bitter little laugh, no humor in the sound. "Not that I know of."

"Then what is it?" Minho pressed.

Newt hesitated; who could he about this if not Min, one of his oldest friends?

"We've been stuck here for going on two bloody years." Newt started carefully. "Thrown together, not knowing who we are or where we came from. Trapped in a little glade, with next to no privacy."

"Yeah. It sucks, I know. We all get that."

"Don't you ever get a little....frustrated? Have a little trouble dealing with...things...when there's always someone around?"

To his immense credit, Minho didn't laugh as the full realization of what Newt was talking about hit him. He kept his face studiously neutral.

"I did in the beginning." He admitted. "Then I figured, hey, shuck it, we all gotta do what we gotta do. I mind mine, you mind yours, he minds his, and we're all good. Otherwise, we all end up edgy and tense and frustrated."

"Yeah." Newt sighed. "We do."

"Look." Minho said, pulling out a reserve of his rarely utilized tact and choosing his words painstakingly. "If you're having difficulties because you can't find a little privacy, I'll be heading over to grab my dinner in a minute." He pulled the rusted metal key for the door out from beneath his shirt, where he always wore it around his neck on a thick string. He never let the thing out of his sight. "This ain't going to be a regular thing, but this one time, I'll trust you to lock the door once you've...taken care of things."

Touched at the offer and the trust in him it showed, Newt shook his head.

"It means a lot that you'd offer, and I'll never forget it. But that's not the problem."

"So what is the problem?"

"Well...I can get out the gate, yeah? Run the lengths, take the turns," Newt explained, using the job they both knew so well to try and make it less awkward. "But when I get to the last turn...I can't...I don't make it to the end of the section."

"You don't make it to the end?"

"No. I don't."

"Why not?" Minho pondered, morbidly curious despite the subject matter.

"I don't know! Shuck, if I bloody knew, don't you think I'd take that last bloody corner and finish the run?!"

Minho shook his head, fully understanding Newt's recent black mood now.

"No wonder you've been so shuckin' crabby lately."

"Yeah." Newt agreed glumly. "And I have no bloody idea what to do about it. What the shuck is wrong with me?!"

There was a long silence as both considered the uncomfortable situation the blonde found himself in.

"I hate to say it," Minho said slowly, "but I think you have to talk to – "

"No way in hell am I going to Jeff about this." Newt stated emphatically, shuddering at the very idea. "He may be a med jack, but no way am I talking to him about my...problem."

"Actually, I was going to suggest you talk to the only person here who might actually know something about this; someone who has more experience in, well, everything than us shanks do."

"Who?" Newt asked in knee jerk reaction, his stomach sinking as he realized the answer a second before Minho could reply.

"Adrian. You should talk to Adrian about it, see if he knows of something that could help you."

Adrian had put the word out during supper – unless someone was missing a limb or aliens were invading, he was taking the night off and didn't want to be disturbed. He figured that he'd earned one blessed evening free of responsibilities or worries. The average age in the glade was fifteen or so, after all. He was certain that they could make do for one evening without a babysitter. He was going to wallow in his own company, with his music, his plant book, and no human distractions. Standing outside and indulging in one of his carefully rationed cigarettes, alone but not lonely, he was content with his own company.

Until he heard the tell-tale rustle in the bushes, and felt the inevitable prickle on the back of his neck.

So much for his sought after solitude.

"What do you want, kid?"

Newt stepped out from the treeline, his eyes nervously scanning back and forth.

"Can I..can I talk to you about...something?"

Despite his fervent desire to have a night apart from the drain of constantly dealing with teenages, he couldn't bring himself to turn Newt away. The kid looked so lost, so vulnerable; like a rabbit poised to bolt if he moved the wrong way.

"Of course." Adrian sighed, waving him over in resigned invitation. "What's on your mind?"

Newt leaned up against the wall of the cabin beside the man and stared off into the distance, blatently not looking at him. Adrian waited for the boy to find his tongue.

"Do you ever have...really vivid dreams? The kind where you wake up and you feel like it's actually happening?" Newt asked slowly, trying to figure out how to explain his issue without dying of mortification.

"All the time." Adrian replied, mirroring Newt's pose and looking up at the vast pastel sky. "Sometimes they're a comfort, a reminder of good times long since gone. Sometimes they're more intense, and I wake up sweaty and shaken, confused for a minute as to where I am, stuck somewhere between then and now, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Newt said gloomily.

A long pregnant pause, this time broken by the man.

"Nightmares and flashbacks – as gut wrenching as they are – are to be expected after the ugliness you faced." He spoke in a calm, neutral tone. "There's no shame in them. And they do, eventually, ease off. For now, if you're having problems sleeping – "

"It's not that." Newt interrupted, "It's not..I mean, yeah, I'm having problems sleeping because of the dreams, but they're not nightmares. They're just so...vivid."

"What are you dreaming about?" Adrian asked, curious now.

"Well they...in them I...that is to say...I don't..." Newt sputtered, the bit of profile Adrian could see from the corner of his eye turning a blazing red. Adrian bit the tip of his tongue to stop the laughter from escaping as he connected the dots.

"Ahhhhhh. Okay. They're those kind of dreams. Well, there's nothing I can do about that. It's perfectly healthy to have those dreams. If the wake you up and you notice you're...all stirred up, we'll say, you ignore it or take care of it, and go back to sleep."

"I try!" Newt cried defensively. "I try, and I just can't...it won't... I don't..."

Adrian mirth instantly died, and sympathy welled up.

"I see. I do. I understand how hard this is for you." Adrian said gently, no judgment or mockery in his voice."It'll be okay, kid. We'll see what we can do to fix that for you. But, to be able to help you, I have to ask a couple of...personal questions. Okay?"

Newt nodded miserably, still looking away.

"At night, you're waking up and finding yourself...stimulated, correct?"

Newt nodded.

"You try to manually relieve yourself, and are unable to find release."

Head hanging low, another nod.

"Are you physically unable to finish? That is, do you go limp before you can finish?"

A jerky little head shake.

"Do you work, and work, and work, and just never get to the end?"

A more vigorous head shake.

Adrian thought for a moment, flipping through stored knowledge in his head before continuing.

"Do you start off okay, get close, and for whatever reason, can't bring yourself to finish the job?"

"Yes!" Newt exploded, whirling to face the man, frustrated anger mixing with shame to beat out embarrassment. "Yes, what a bloody laugh, I can't finish the job! I get close, so close, and every time, every bloody time, I see his face in my head! Sneering at me, laughing at me while he..." His voice died down to a wounded keening. "And suddenly, I'm stuck, frozen, sick to my stomach. I try, I try to make myself just grit my teeth and push through it – but all I see is his face."

Tunneling his hands into his hair, the distraught boy squeezed his head as if he could force the offensive images out.

"What's wrong with me? It's over, done, in the past! Why can't I...what the shuck is wrong with me?!"

"There's nothing wrong with you." Adrian stated matter-of-factually, knowing the tone would stop the despair cold. "You suffered an atrocity, a grotesque parody of sex that damaged you physically and mentally. This kind of reaction to sexual trauma is actually really common."

"But what do I do about it?" Newt snapped, at the end of his rope.

"Well, this actually has a really simple solution." Adrian explained. "Who is the glader that you trust the most? No qualms, no doubts, if you had to pick one that would never let you down, someone you feel safe with, who would it be?"

"Why?" Newt asked suspiciously, not seeing the connection.

"Because you're going to go to that guy and ask for a hand. Literally."

Adrian kept talking as Newt choked out horrified denials.

"You can't clinch the deal yourself, so you need someone who can. Someone who'll do as you ask, and not stop when you yourself clutch. Someone who will keep at it until you get off."

Newt was rendered speechless by the words.

"Your body needs release. You can't provide it. Engaging in a positive sexual experience with a benign party, someone you know and trust, should hopefully be enough to unblock the part of you that now equates sex with pain and horror. Once you're 'unblocked', so to speak, you can go back to taking care of things yourself. I know it will be awkward to ask, but if they care about you, if they're a good friend, they'll be willing to close their eyes and help you out, just this once. Good friends stick with you, do what they've gotta do to have your back."

"You..."

Newt paced away, tuning his back on the man and scrunching his eyes shut. Logically, it made sense. And there was someone he knew he could trust with his body, if he had to. Now he had to screw up the courage to ask.

"I realize that this isn't what you wanted to hear, but given the circumstances it really is the simplest, easiest, and best solution to your difficulties. Swallow your pride, push back your embarrassment, and ask a friend to lend a hand."

"Addy..."

"Yeah?"

The trees rustled with a restless gust of breeze, lifting their hair and sending it floating in the warm evening air. Newt took a steadying breath and turned, looking directly into Adrian's misty green eyes.

"Would you...would you lend me a hand?"

Adrian held out his hands in a placating manner, barely managing to keep his face blank and calm.

Why me? For God's sake, why me?!

"I was thinking more of one of your glader friends, someone you've known longer, someone you trust..."

"I'm asking you." Newt's face showed his nerves, his self-consciousness. "I trust you. You'd never...you wouldn't...hurt me. You make me feel...safe."

"I know, and I'm touched that you'd trust me. It's just, I'm considerably older than you are, and – "

"You helped me before. You fixed me when I was bashed up, bleeding. You gave me courage. And I know you'll never let me down. It's just who you are. I need...I need your help now. You can help me fix this. Please, Addy." He added shyly, his eyes silently begging. He looked about twelve years old.

Adrian's arguments and denials withered on his tongue; they'd fall on deaf ears anyhow. Newt had made up his mind, and made his choice. And he himself had advised the kid to seek help from another, AND that a true friend wouldn't deny him. He'd just assumed – hoped – that it would be anyone but him.

Bleeding hearts of the world unite! WHY ME?!

"Alright." He cleared his throat as the word croaked out, and tried again. "Alright, fine. Yes, I'll lend you a hand."

"Thank you." Newt whispered, looking away, blushing a little at the sappiness of his words. Adrian resisted the urge to make a pithy remark.

Well, that's the first time someone's thanked me before sex.

Wanting to get it over with, he laid a firm hand on Newt's shoulder and steered the boy toward the middle of the grassy area, pointing a finger and telling him to sit down. Newt's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"...out here? I mean, the house is right there, wouldn't it be be-better to..."

"Out here is best." Adrian affirmed, sitting down beside and slightly forward of Newt, facing the opposite direction. They were hip to hip, his right shoulder and inch or two in front of the boy's. "Okay, here's how this is going to go. This is a one time deal, to help you get through your physical block. I won't be doing a repeat performance. When it's done, it's done. Get it? And you need to look at me, right now, and tell me what you want. If you trust me, if you want the help, you tell me right now not to stop. If you're not absolutely sure, we put the whole thing aside for today. Understand?"

"I need this. I'm asking for your help." Newt said clearly, swallowing audibly when his voice broke. "I'm sure. Don't stop until I ...until I'm done."

"So be it."

Adrian laid his right arm across Newt's lower belly, feeling the boy jolt at the action. He left it there for a few minutes, feeling the nervous tension in the thin body. When he judged the boy relaxed enough, Adrian slowly but firmly slid his hand back across the narrow abdomen until his palm rested on the crotch of Newt's pants. Newt bit his lip and caught his breath at the contact, his body rapidly responding to the touch as the man began to massage him through his clothes.

"Breathe, kid."

Newt drew in a shaky breath obediently, which turned into an involuntary gasp as the fly of his zipper slid down. The fingers of his left hand dug into the soft grass behind him and he fumbled out with the other, managing to clench his fingers onto the back of Adrian's right shoulder as the man freed him from the cloth.

Adrian briskly worked Newt with quick sure strokes, and the boy dissolved into unintelligible moans and gasps.

"Gah...ah! Ye – uh! Ah!"

Newt's nails dug into the man's skin as he was relentlessly driven towards the edge. He felt the heat pooling, spreading as he mindlessly thrust into the wide, calloused hand.

Suddenly that sneering grin flashed into his mind.

"W-wait! Wait, I c-can't...I don't...s-stop...d-don't..."

"Not this time." Adrian said firmly, his hand moving even faster now. Newt was leaning on him fully now, his words sobbing out in a mix of fear and desperation.

"I can't, I can't, I c-can't!"

Adrian shifted his grip, running his thumb directly up the thick vein on the underside of Newt's sex. The boy screamed wordlessly as he came, bucking under the man's steady arm as Adrian felt warm fluid hit his knuckles. His hand stilled and he waited, holding the semi-rigid member in his hand while Newt struggled to gulp in air.

Then he started pumping again.

Letting out a guttural cry, Newt curled into the man as he found himself being driven upwards again, his mind totally blank, his body feeling like one huge exposed nerve. His entire focus was on Adrian's hand and his erection as he felt the unspeakable tension building once again inside him. He was open mouth panting against the soft cloth of Adrian's shoulder when the man spoke.

"Put your hand on mine."

Newt lifted his left hand weakly, fumbling for a second before placing it over the man's rapidly moving one. Adrian reversed their grip in a flash, trapping the boy's hand against his own flesh and guiding its movements, helping Newt to help himself. The man was as good as his word; he didn't stop until Newt was undeniably done.

It didn't take very long, in less than two dozen more strokes, Newt moaned and cried out as he climaxed a second time.

"Ah, yes..y-yes...A-Addy, I need...I'm...yes...Yes! AhhhhH!"

Shattered, spent, completely undone, Adrian's firm arm was the only thing keeping Newt from face planting into the grass. Adrian gently held him upright while he shook and trembled from the force of the event, and Newt turned his face into the strong, sturdy curve of Adrian's shoulder. Closing his eyes, he felt a warmth he'd never felt before.

Adrian would never let him down.

Author's note~

While the last few chapters have been quite sexual in nature, this story isn't actually smut-centric; that's just the current arc we're in at the moment. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

See you next chapter!

~Ruby