Justin's POV

Brian and I had gone to the police station. I didn't have much to share. Being at Ethan's the evening before. Then waking up at that crackhouse. The hazy memory of two men, one holding me in place while the other hit me. The unpleasant feeling of someone other than Brian being inside me. The ring I'd found.

Brian was surprised to learn that the last place I remembered being was Ethan's. I didn't want to tell him why I had gone (to prevent Ethan from coming to the loft), but I couldn't lie. I needed Brian too much right now. Needed to know that we were okay, nothing threatening the connection between us. His thinking I'd wanted to go to Ethan's would have played into his insecurities. I just hoped that whatever happened, happened after I left Ethan's. If Ethan ended up having something to do with this, Brian would blame himself for sure.

In his statement, Brian described the way I'd appeared when he walked in, tied up and blindfolded, dried cum on my back and ass and bruises on my back and face, as well as the two types of footprints he'd seen.

The physical examination was utter humiliation. The nurses took samples of everything. My hair, my pubic hair, my urine, and my blood. They even swabbed the dried cum and placed it on a small glass plate for testing. Then they took pictures of my bruised body and face. They examined my upper body and my ass. I'd suffered minor rectal tearing and was bruised up pretty bad, but nothing was broken or fractured. The whole time Brian held my hand, but said nothing, his face blank. I knew there was much more going on inside him that he didn't want me to see, probably worried about freaking me out any more than I already was. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was the constant warmth of his hand in mine. I focused on that and little else. Brian's hand, his warmth, was my lifeline.

I was so relieved when were in the Jeep heading home. Home. It was so nice to think of the loft as home again. We drove back in silence. Brian was still holding my hand. He never let go, not even when he had to shift. He actually used his left hand. It was a comical sight, but his devotion was so touching.

Brian's POV

We entered the loft, and Justin immediately headed for the bathroom. I'd seen parts of enough Lifetime movies to know that I didn't want him in there alone. I changed into shorts and followed him in. He was already in the shower. I joined him. He shot me a puzzled look.

Justin laughed. "Uh Brian. Did you forget something?"

Feigning surprise, I asked, "What?"

"Uh…You're still dressed."

"Oh. That." I was washing Justin's back carefully with a sponge.

When I didn't say anything more, Justin spun around angrily.

A bitter edge to his voice, he asked, "What? Suddenly, you aren't attracted to me anymore? Are you trying to be nice? Hiding the fact that I no longer make your dick hard?"

He turned back around. Fuck. He was crying. Hard. His body was shaking.

"It's not like I blame you. I'm bruised all over and after seeing me at that house and then in the hospital…Ugly, weak, and helpless. Filthy. God only knows what sickos were touching me, fucking me. I could be positive." He laughed and then started crying again.

I swung Justin around quickly, though I was careful not to hurt him.

"Stop being a twat."

I slowly unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts and let them fall. Letting Justin see my very erect cock.

He stared in shock.

I lifted his chin, so his eyes met mine.

"I could never see you as weak. Anyone can be overpowered. Anyone. It's what they do after that determines whether they are weak or strong. You've endured so much, but you're still standing and fighting. I just didn't want you to feel pressured. I can't imagine that you'd be comfortable…being with me…not for a while. I don't care what happened, what some fuckheads did to you, about the bruises, or even whether you're positive. You're as beautiful as you've always been. Being close to you like this…naked…how could I not want you?" My voice betrayed me, breaking a little on the last few words.

Justin was crying again, but, somehow, it was different.

I caressed Justin's cheek gently, drawing my thumb over his jawline. I pulled him to me slowly and kissed him. A soft, gentle brush on his lips. Needing more, Justin put his arms around my neck and sent his lips crashing onto mine, kissing me hungrily, desperately. I returned the kiss just as passionately, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him against me. Holding him so tight.

We spent many minutes making out like horny teenagers, but, then, I started kissing down Justin's neck. Then I slid down to my knees. I licked the tip of his cock, and he threaded his fingers into my damp hair. I sucked on the head of his cock a few times, watching him. Watching for any sign that he wasn't okay.

I paused when I saw tears streaming down his face. I nearly lost it when he whispered, "Why couldn't it always be you?"

I fondled his balls with one hand and stroked him with the other, while I leaned my head back against the glass and closed my eyes tight. Willing tears away. After a moment, I shook my head and deep throated him. Then everything was drowned out by Justin moaning my name.