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“Hey!  Get that out of his mouth!”  Jeff dropped to his knees, ripping Cole’s hand away from the t-shirt wrapped with suffocating force around Dean’s head.

Cole was gone, head back, a near shout scraping through  his throat as his body convulsed around what looked to be a rather extreme orgasm.

Fuckin’ pig.   Jeff braced Dean’s shoulders, holding him in place as Cole’s violent motions jarred the unresponsive form.  Fluid bubbled from Dean’s mouth and nose with each thrust.

At least it’s helping clear his airways.

Cole fell forward onto his hands, his flushed, sweating face inches from Jeff’s.  

Jeff ignored the panting, using the tail of his own shirt to wipe vomit from Dean’s lips and chin.

“Jesus Christ,” Cole panted, “he’s so fuckin’ tight.”

Jeff grunted.  “You done?”

Cole dropped down to his elbows. “Yeah.  Fuck, that was intense.”

“Get off him.”

“Jus’ a sec.  Gotta catch my breath first.”

Jeff shoved him violently, sending Cole over on his back in a sprawl.

“What’s your deal, Jeff?  Christ!”

 

Adam had moved to stand between Dean’s legs, and was fumbling with his belt.

 

Jeff held his hand up.  “Hold up!  Just back off a second!”  

“Fuck that.  You may’ve brought him in, but I supplied the roofies.  I get next dibs.”

Jeff was up and in the man’s face before anyone could react.  “Ryan told me part of my job was to  make sure you assholes didn’t kill anyone, remember?”  He was nose-to-nose with the younger man, finger in his face.  “This guy --” he jabbed the finger at Dean -- “is choking on his own vomit.  Give me a fuckin’ minute to get him stabilized, alright?”

Adam had taken an involuntary step back.  Now he raised his hands, palms out in a placating manner.  “Alright, dude, chill.  I didn’t know.  Do what you gotta do.”

Jeff returned to his position at Dean’s head.  “Scott.  Gimme my bag.”

Scott found the paramedic’s satchel and dropped it beside his friend, looking at him as if Jeff had turned rabid.

Jeff rummaged through the cotents, extracting a stethoscope.  He rolled his patient onto his side, pressing the bell against the broad back, listening carefully.

He ignored the vultures standing around watching.   Hope it kills their buzz and they leave him alone.

 

“Sam.”  The sound was so quiet that, without the amplification of the stethoscope, Jeff probably would have missed it.

Jeff leaned closer.  “Dean?”

He struggled, trying to rise.  “Where’s Sam?”  The words were slurred, movements uncoordinated.

Jeff pushed him back down.  “Who’s Sam?”

“Brother.” He lifted a hand, pushing weakly at Jeff’s.  “Gotta take care of ‘im. Keep ‘im safe.”

“Just chill out for a minute, okay?  I’ll get you fixed up.  Then we’ll get you back to Sam.”

“‘Kay.”  He relaxed, closing his eyes.  “Wha’s wrong wi’ me?”  He rubbed weakly at his abdomen.  “Don’ feel..." He grunted, wincing.  "Hur’s.”

“Um….you were...drowning.”  Jeff pulled out a bottle and a syringe.  “Are you allergic to penicillin?”

 

Dean’s eyes shot open.  “No!”  He shoved Jeff away, movements stronger now, voice panicked.  “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”  

“Dean, just calm down.”

Ignoring Jeff’s command, he started pushing with his feet, trying to distance himself from the man in front of him.  

Adam dropped down to grip his legs, and Dean kicked out at him.  “Get the fuck away from me!”

Scott and Cole moved in, and the man began bucking violently, fighting to get free.  “Get OFF!”  

Ryan cuffed Jeff on the back of the head.  “Get control of this.  Now.”

Fuckin’ asshole.

Jeff rummaged through his bag, dropping the penicillin to extract a different vial.  “Lay on him.  Hold him down.”

“No!”  the word was simultaneously enraged and terrified.  “Touch me again and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

I hate this.  Jeff drew clear fluid into a syringe.  “I need his arm. The vein inside his elbow.”

“Don’t do this, Jeff.”  The deep growl voiced an unmistakable threat.

Jeff closed his eyes briefly.   This shit never bothered me before.  Why does it feel so wrong this time?

He opened his eyes, glanced at his patient, and was caught by the man’s stare.

Desperation, rage, and terror glowed there.  “Jeff...please.  I need to get back to my brother.”  His voice was quiet, the tone reasonable.

A gun cocked behind him, and Jeff felt hard metal pressed to his skull.  “Jeff.  You remember the deal, right?”

Jeff froze, heart and mind both racing, desperate for a way out of this situation.  Finding none, he closed his eyes, nodding.

A wordless shout tore through his patient, who nearly broke free of the men’s grasp.  “Get on him!” Ryan commanded from his position behind Jeff.  Adam wrapped both arms around Dean’s lower legs before laying on them.  Cole sprawled over the struggling man’s pelvis and thighs, and Scott straddled his chest with a knee on each bicep.

Dean lunged up, lifting his shoulders just enough to allow him to sink his teeth into denim, and Scott screamed.  He began pummeling their captive’s head frantically, the blows coming at too strained of an angle to have much power behind them.

Dean hung on, shaking his head like a wolf slaughtering a rabbit, a continuous wet roar bubbling out through locked jaws.

Shaun gripped the enraged man’s right wrist, pulling the arm straight, holding it with both hands as their bit of fun overcame the rohypnol enough to show his strength.

Scott was shrieking continuously, knuckles bleeding from repeated ineffectual contact with Dean’s tempered skull.

Jeff swallowed convulsively.  I’m sorry, Dean.

He slid the needle beneath the man’s skin.

 

Feeling the intrusion and knowing full well what it meant, Dean finally released his victim to turn a pleading gaze on the stranger that he had mistakenly trusted as a friend.

“Jeff!  Don’t!”  All that had been in  his eyes was clearly audible in Dean’s voice.

“You won’t remember anything,” Jeff promised.

“I’ll fucking kill you!”  Despite the restraint, Dean managed to arch his torso, twisting as he did, nearly freeing his right arm. “I will fucking kill you all!”

Blood flashed into the syringe, and Jeff depressed the plunger.

“You son-of-a-bitch.”  His eyes locked on Jeff’s, the glow dimming as tension faded, one tear tracking down  his face.  Dean went limp.

 

The hard metal ceased to press against  Jeff’s scalp.  “Good boy.”  Ryan moved into his field of view.  “Keep him under control.”

Ignoring him, Jeff pulled another bottle from the bag.

“What’s that?  I want him to be able to respond, you know.”

“It’s to keep him from puking again.  I assume you don’t want to fuck a corpse.”

Ryan grunted.  “Might as well be if he’s too out of it to put up a fight, or get hard.”

Jeff administered the injection.  “He won’t be.  Gave him something like the roofies.  He won’t really know what’s going on, but he’ll be able to move a little.  Maybe say a word or two."

“Good.  I want him responsive when it’s my turn.”  He tucked the pistol into his waistband.  “You want next dibs?  Take your turn now so you’re free in case he needs more drugs?”  He kicked the unconscious man in the ribs.  “Fucker’s a lot tougher than I expected.”

Jeff clenched his jaw.  “I ain’t touchin’ him.”

Ryan snorted.  “His threats scare ya, little girl?”

Jeff kept his eyes averted as he shook his head.  “He’s got a brother he’s supposed to be lookin’ after.  This ain’t right.”

“A brother, huh?”  Shaun was on his feet, and gripped his crotch in a lewd gesture.  “I’ll take care of ‘im for ya, Dean.”  He smirked as several of the men chuckled.

Jeff shot him a glare.

Ryan shook his head.  “Gettin’ soft, Jeff.  We’ll have to talk about that later.”  He looked around at the assembled men. “Adam?  You’re up.”  He put a boot on Dean’s shoulder, shoving him onto his back.  

Adam grinned, forcing his jeans and briefs halfway down his thighs before positioning himself on his knees.  “Yeah.  I get to look at that pretty face.”

“Just wait a fucking minute.  I need to check on Scott.” Jeff tipped his head toward the man who had crawled a few feet away and was now hunched over his bloody crotch, keening softly.  “Just. Wait.”

He kept his eyes on the men he had suddenly grown to despise, moving backwards, locating Scott by following the wounded animal sounds he was making.

 

He was forced to trust the lust-crazed group as he reached Scott’s side.  “Lemme see.”  He pulled the whimpering man’s hands away, but could observe nothing beyond blood and torn denim.  “We gotta get your pants off, or at least down, Scott.  I need to know how much damage he did.”

He reached for Scott’s belt, only to be stopped by a clammy grip on his wrist and wide eyes nearly touching his own.  “No!”  Scott’s voice was a strained whisper.  “They might rape me, too!”

Jeff swallowed audibly, disgust making his stomach turn.   Serves you fuckin’ right.  Serves all of us right.  “Human bite wounds always get infected, Scott.  It needs to be cleaned out.  Might need stitches.”  Or more, if that iron jaw crushed enough tissue .

“Not here,” Scott insisted.  “I don’t trust them.”  His eyes darted, seeking an answer, or an escape.  They landed back on Jeff.  “Take me to the hospital?  Please?”

Jeff closed his eyes, shaking his head.  “I won’t leave Dean alone with them.  They might kill him.”

“Then I’ll wait, alright?  I’ll just wait.”  Scott dropped his hands back to his crotch, giving Jeff a pathetic smile.

“Do you have any idea how long this could take?  There’s four guys over there, Scott.  Four lust-crazed fucking sadists working themselves into a frenzy over this poor bastard.  You think each of ‘em is gonna be satisfied with just one round?  Think again!”

“It’s okay.  I can wait.  It’s not so bad now.”  But his voice was pitiful.

Jeff turned as he stood.  “Alright.  Party’s over.”  He put as much authority into his voice as he could muster. “I gotta get Scott to a hospital, and I’m not leaving Dean alone with you assholes.  You’re all so jacked up right now, you’ll kill him, and I ain’t going to the electric chair for you pukes.”

Ryan folded his arms over his chest.  

His pistol dangled loosely from his right fist.

Shit .  Jeff felt his chest constrict.

“Cole,” Ryan barked, “drop Scott off at the hospital, then get your ass back here.”

A pissed-off Cole stomped across the mattresses to grip Scott by his upper arm.  Scott yelped as he was forced to his feet.  “Get a move on, dipshit.” Cole gave the injured man a shove, earning a small shout of pain. “I wanna get at least one more shot into that guy before mornin’.”

Jeff watched them go. Scott, slumped against Cole’s irritated form, cried out with each wincing step.

 

“Jeff.”  The single syllable was a command.

Jeff swallowed back bile as he crawled to his position at Dean’s head, knees bracing the unconscious man’s shoulders, hands cradling his skull.  “If I say ‘stop’, you fuckin’ stop.  Got it?”  He shot a venomous glare at the half-nude man kneeling between his patient’s thighs.  

Adam sneered.  “I’ll try, man, but if he feels as good as Cole said, I may not have a whole lotta control.”  

Jeff shook his head.   Please stay under, Dean.  Don’t fight the drugs.


Jeff maintained his position at Dean’s head, monitoring his breathing and watching for signs of nausea as each man cycled through.  Other than one whimpered “Hurts” in an impossibly small voice and a single “Sam” that was much more forceful, Dean had shown no sign of regaining consciousness.

The men who were awaiting their turns were lounging around, tipping back bottles of beer and fondling one another as they watched the show.

Ryan cuffed Jeff on the side of the  head.  “Said I wanted him awake, dammit. How much of that shit did you give him?”

“Response is unpredictable.  You know that,” Jeff ground out through clenched teeth.

Ryan knelt beside Dean’s supine body.  He reached out, gripping the flaccid penis, attempting to stroke it to awareness.  He glared at Jeff.  “You know I love makin’ a straight boy see the error of his ways.  How’m I s’posed to do that now?”

“You already got him first thing.”

“Yeah, and I wanted to end the same way.  Wake ‘im up.”

“You see the scars on this guy?  He’s lived through some shit.  I really don’t think waking him up is a smart idea.”

The gun was out, pressed to Jeff’s throat while a  hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back.  “Wake him the fuck up, or I’ll take it out on your ass instead.”

“Fine,” Jeff ground out through teeth forced together by the barrel of Ryan’s gun.  

Ryan eased off, but he kept the pistol out.

Jeff looked through his supplies, pulling out a bottle of flumazenil.  His hands shook as he drew the reversal agent up into a syringe.

This is the last one.  I’m not doing this again.

He slid the needle home.


Ryan smiled as he set the gun down.  He slid his hand up his victim’s thigh, cupping the man’s testicles, then began stroking his slowly filling penis.  “That’s more like it.”

Jeff pulled his over-shirt off, folded it, and used it to fashion a blindfold for his patient.

“What’s that for?”  Ryan had one hand on Dean’s dick while the other was gliding over his well-muscled chest.

“Your safety.”

Ryan snorted.

Dean moaned, shifting his hips.

Ryan chuckled.  “Look how hard he is.”  He watched his hand move.  “God, that’s nice.”

Dean’s breathing had quickened.  “Wha’s goin’ on?”  He turned his head left, then right, as if trying to dislodge the blindfold.

“Kinky date, buddy," Jeff offered, hoping to keep the man pliant. "Just relax and enjoy.”

Ryan dropped his head, running his tongue up Dean’s abdomen before fastening his teeth on one taut nipple.

Dean groaned, arching his hips up into Ryan’s hand.  “Shit.”

Jeff closed his eyes.  I’m sorry, man.  I am so fucking sorry.

Ryan moaned at Dean’s response, dropping his head to slide his mouth over the engorged cock in his fist.  His hand and mouth moved in conjunction while Dean thrust up into  him, abdominal muscles tensing and flexing, fingernails digging into the mattress convulsively.

Ryan sat up, allowing Dean's cock to slide from his mouth.  His fist continued to glide up and down Dean’s shaft slowly, and the drugged man squirmed at the touch.  

“Please…”

“Please what, Dean?”

Jeff knew that this was Ryan’s kink, the thing that drove him absolutely wild: a straight guy begging him for release.

Dean curled up, reaching clumsily for Ryan’s hand.  “More.”

Ryan caught one of the weakly grasping arms, pushing it toward Jeff.  “Hold him.”

Wordlessly Jeff shifted, cradling Dean’s head on his thighs so that he could grasp both of the man’s wrists.

Dean struggled feebly, the drugs crippling his defenses.

Ryan freed his own erection from his clothing, stroking it in time to his motions on Dean.

Dean’s head pressed into Jeff’s thighs as his back arched involuntarily.  His abdomen moved in small, rapid motions as he huffed in strained breaths.  “Jeff…” The name was a barely intelligible moan.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Tell her," he moaned again, rocking his head back, mouth open on a pant, "to go faster.”

Jeff couldn’t help but chuckle.

Ryan did as well. “You got any lube in that handy little bag of yours?” His face was flushed, and he was breath-for-breath with Dean.

“Yeah.  Gonna  hafta find it yourself, though.”  Jeff used his head to motion to the fingers encircling Dean’s wrists.  “Kinda busy right now.”

Ryan flashed his teeth in a feral smile before extracting a tube of water-based lubricant from Jeff’s duffel.  He flipped the lid open, squeezing a generous amount of the substance onto Dean’s visibly throbbing erection.

The organ jumped and Dean hissed.  “Cold.”

“It’ll warm up quick,” Ryan assured him.  He filled his left hand with gel, then dropped the tube.  Breathing heavily, pupils dilated, he wrapped one fist around his own cock as the other encircled Dean’s. Both men moaned as Ryan began to stroke, heavy-lidded eyes roaming from Dean’s face to his groin and back again.

Jeff was caught up in it as well, each stuttered breath and pleasure-spiked grunt shooting straight to his groin.

Jeff watched Ryan work the other man, movements slow and deliberate, sliding up the tumescent shaft, twisting around the equally engorged head, then sliding back down.

Dean’s abdominal muscles spasmed and his head rolled from side to side.  “Please.  So close.”  He thrust up with his hips, attempting to quicken the tempo.

Ryan groaned, body curling over his own hand, but continued at the same tortuous pace.

Dean grimaced.  The muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened as his torso contracted.  “God...oh, god…”  His back arched, skull digging into Jeff’s thighs, knees alternately flexing and extending as a hoarse shout echoed around the room, sounding like it had been torn from his very soul.

Ryan watched, mouth hanging open, tip of his tongue visible, until a hot jet of semen arced from his victim, spattering across the already soiled shirt that had been shoved up beneath Dean’s chin.

And then Ryan lost control, hunching over his own hand as he shouted out his release.  He tilted forward, resting his head on Dean’s heaving torso, struggling to catch his breath.

Jeff’s focus was entirely on Dean, watching him grimace, seeing his hands flex and his entire body tremble as the aftershocks of a protracted orgasm worked their way through him.

Jeff licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, cock hard and aching.

Dean gradually relaxed, breath slowing.

He began to snore softly.

 

Ryan sat up, looking around, somewhat bleary-eyed, at the room’s occupants.  “Damn.  Anyone else here think this was the best one yet?”

Jeff carded his fingers through Dean’s sweat-damp hair, silently agreeing.   Wish it had never  happened.

“You gonna need to drug him again to buy us time to get outta here?”

Jeff shook his head.  “The flumazenil wears off before the flun-- before the roofies.  He should sleep for a couple hours now.”

“Good.”  Ryan stood up, pushing himself back into his pants. “Party’s over.  Let’s get movin’.”

Jeff removed the improvised blindfold from Dean's face and checked his bag, ensuring that he wasn’t leaving anything behind.  

“Jeff.  Let’s go.”

He glanced around, seeing that the others had already left.  “Yeah.  Comin’.”

Ryan held the door open, waiting for him.

 

Jeff found Dean’s clothes, making sure they were close at hand, draping the man’s flannel over his lower body.

He knelt, bringing his lips close to the other man’s ear.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I hope you don’t remember any of this.  And I hope your brother’s okay.”

He raked his fingertips through the unconscious man’s sweat-soaked hair one more time before following Ryan out the door.