~Something's wrong, shut the light, Heavy thoughts tonight, And they aren't of snow white, Dreams of war, dreams of liars, Dreams of dragon's fire, And of things that will bite~ Metallica

Justin saw black. He saw burgundy and sapphire. Bright streaks that blazed across his line of sight with venom.

His eyes were clenched shut -- pressed together as rigidly as possible. From his haze he could feel Lance’s arm on his waist -- just where it should have been.

But the demons kept coming, only this time they didn’t touch. They didn’t cuff, or suck, or hurt. They taunted with ginger eyes and talon nails but no face.

This time Justin woke himself out of the nightmare, sweaty but unharmed.

And Lance was beside him, snoring lightly, unfazed by the dream.

Justin nearly smiled. It had just been a dream -- a *scary* dream yet just an image in his head. So then, he figured, as he curled back down next to Lance, it *all* must have been nightmares -- random subconscious thoughts that plagued him for reasons unknown.

He ignored the fact he’d woken with red welts and sore throats. It was dismissed thankfully, and without hesitation.

Justin assumed blindly that Lance was his good luck charm.

It was so easy for him to fall back to sleep so he took advantage of it. And when the dreams didn’t come again, he chalked it up to Lance -- and kismet.

The bus lurched to a halt and Justin woke alone. He was cold, and a hard on tormented him. He stretched, completely confident that all was now well -- that his life was being returned to him for whatever reason.

Wandering the silent bus, Justin assumed they were either at the hotel or at a rest area for gas. He was assured, and feeling more alive than he had since making his grand mistake with Chris. The smile was growing broader and broader as he made his way sleepily to the bathroom.

The small safety nightlight was on, and Justin felt no need to switch on the larger one. He stood over the toilet and positioned himself toward the bowl. He hoped, silently, that the erection would go away by pissing and maybe, just maybe, he could find Lance and climb into bed with him -- where ever he was.

One flush, a quick wash of hands and he glanced down at the problem. Shrugging, he yanked his pants down and began to stroke himself. He was a master at it, having been a virgin until just a few days previous, and didn’t waste any time.

His hand worked feverishly. This was simply a release for him -- something that he needed to do to return to the sweet place he’d been before waking.

Tiny grunts and breathy moans escaped his lips as he threw his head back against the wall and he ignored the fact he was making a fuck of a lot of noise for so late at night.

But it really did feel good, to have his hand wrapped around his cock touching himself exactly the way he liked -- exactly the way he knew he needed to be touched to come.

And he knew it wouldn’t be *that* good because it was *always* better with someone.

Lance flashed before him in the darkness.

It was so startling -- so absurd, Justin paused mid thrust with his heart hammering. “Lance?” he called out gently.

His ears cocked and he listened attentively. Silence raged deafeningly. Another shrug and he continued to tug and pull, anxious for release and even more anxious to find Lance and curl back up next to him.

Green eyes glowered from the shadows and Justin stopped again. His hands dropped to his side and he blinked. “Lance?”

No answer, but he was positive he’d seen those unmistakable eyes staring back at him.

Fear warped in his stomach and his hand reached behind his body for the door latch. Bitterness rose in his throat and with his free hand he yanked his pants back up. “Find Lance,” he muttered.

The shadows came quickly and without warning, knocking the safety light out and slamming him back against the wall.

Strong hands whipped him around, forcing Justin’s hands away from his pants. “Love is back for you,” the voice growled. “I was enjoying the show.”

Justin gasped as his head bounced off the wall and his pants fell to his ankles. His arms pressed against the tile but the body behind him was much stronger -- and foul.

He twisted his head to the side for air -- for some grasp on what he’d hoped was so long gone. His hands dropped and the chill of the tile bled through his thin tee shirt making him shiver.

“Lance?” Justin called out weakly. He was so scared to even think such a thing, to even consider that Lance would be his attacker. But he knew he’d seen those eyes. He was certain.

“Lance can’t save you now,” the voice taunted.

And Justin heard the shadow laugh. He heard the shadow’s pants fall to the ground. He felt the stinging pain of fingers making their way inside him without caution.

His hands reached behind him in some attempt to force this entity away -- to beg for some freedom and some peace.

“Stop,” he whimpered between sobs. “Please leave me alone.”

“For what?” the voice said. “So you can jerk off? So you can lie with Lance and live in sin? So you can be free?”

Justin wanted to die.

There were two fingers, then three, then four. All the while his body was shaking and writhing in anguish and terror.

His hands were useless and awkward. He felt warm liquid trickle down his leg and tried to collapse, to force his body to the ground where he hoped to get a better grip.

But the shadow retreated suddenly.

And Justin blinked though his tears. He felt around in the blackness for the door, or the light. He needed to get out where there was air and he could breath.

The air was oppressive and the room began to close in on him.

“Help me,” he gasped as his fingers grazed over the cool steel of the sink. “I. Can’t. Breathe.”

Tiny sparkles of starts floated around before him and Justin slumped to the floor, clutching his chest and praying someone found him.

Lance.

“Where’s Justin?”

Justin heard the deep voice coming across the door -- Lance’s voice.

“Dammit! Where is he?”

“How the fuck do I know? We only got off the bus for a few minutes. I thought he was sleeping.”

Chris.

Justin clawed at the door frantically. “Help me,” he croaked.

“Justin?”

“Lance!”

“Jesus, unlock the door!”

Justin heard the panicked jiggling of the latch. He heard the fear embedded in Lance’s words. But his body was like jelly, and he couldn’t seem to reach up that high.

“Lock. I can’t. Help.” Justin tried to move away from the door -- in case it needed to be broken down.

It was so dark he wasn’t sure which was he was moving.

“Hold on, J. I’m coming in.”

The words were so piercing Justin winced. He pulled his shoulders up to conceal his neck and forced his chin to his chest -- to block it out.

The door swung open, slamming him in the back. And the light switched on, making his eyes shut immediately.

“Fucking A!” Lance screamed. “Chris. Dammit! Shit!”

Justin shivered even as Lance touched him. He trembled from the inside out and hoped that he would wake in his bed -- like he always did.

He was saddened that Lance wasn’t the luck he’d been counting on.

“Blood! God. Justin, what happened?”

Those large arms were again around him, but this time fearful to move him. Fearful to disturb evidence, Justin thought as his eyes remained shut.

“Holy fuck. Is he okay?” Chris’s voice was higher than normal, and full of shock as well.

And Justin thought that was ironic.

“Fine.” Justin chattered as he forced his eyes open. “Fine. Don’t look. Don’t freak out. I’m fine.” For the first time, he looked down to see more evidence of his ordeal.

This time in the ugly form of blood.

His pants were gathered at his feet and blood pooled on his thighs -- and on the floor.

He looked up at Lance with wide eyes. “I’m not okay am I?”

Lance wobbled a bit and steadied himself against the door jam. “You are,” he said lowly. “You’re okay. Come on.”

Justin swallowed thickly as Lance lifted him to his feet. Chris jumped in to yank his pants back up, avoiding all eye contact.

“Don’t tell okay?” Justin pleaded weakly. “I fell. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Lance hugged him close. “I need to know what happened,” he whispered. “You have to tell me what’s going on. Was someone here?”

Justin shook under Lance’s embrace. Words caught in this throat as more sobs emerged, rendering him unable to speak.

And he was scared -- more scared than ever because this was reality. The blood was not his imagination and now others saw.

He feared insanity.

He feared betrayal.

He feared both Lance and Chris.

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