There were three reasons why, when Justin finally awoke the next day, he felt disoriented.

The first reason was because he had slept the night through entirely without a single nightmare. That had not happened in over two years - ever since the bashing he'd had at least one nightmare and nothing he did to prevent them ever worked. They were something he had become acclimatised to, though the night terrors themselves were always terrifying, he was used to their coming, and the absence of them was keenly felt.

The second was that he was wrapped not only in a warm blanket, but also held against a very warm body. What was even more unusual was that he was naked and pressed firmly against another body and was feeling no ill affects from the contact. He wasn't getting any memory-flashes from a life that was not his own; there were no emotions save the comfort and contentment that was entirely his. It was about the time that he was noting this that he realized the third thing that was disorienting him, which was that he was not in his own bedroom. 

He opened his eyes quickly, though he felt no sense of fear or threat, and his eyes immediately connected with a pair of hazel eyes. In a flood his mind connected his present situation with the memories of the night prior, which he had been dismissing as a dream until just that moment. Justin rubbed his eyes and leaned up to look at the alarm, huffing at the time - they had to get up.

“Out of bed, Sunshine,” Brian said, smirking as Justin attempted to bury his head under the pillow and having to shove Brian's shoulder out of the way to do that. Justin felt a hand stroke through his hair and smiled to himself as he peaked out and grunted in response. “I'm going for a shower,” Brian said as he shifted Justin's body of his, still smirking, and headed towards the bathroom. He stopped by the door and turned back towards the bed. “You coming?” Justin's smile turned to a full grin and he hopped from the bed and sauntered after the brunette.

…………………..

“You look happy,” Daphne noted as Justin - who had just separated from Brian so they could go to their respective offices - passed her desk. Justin turned his grin to her and wiggled his eyebrows before ducking into his office. “Wait,” Daphne said to the closed door, trying to process what her friend's curious behaviour meant. “Did you -“ she got up and tried the door handle. “Holy crap did you ff-“ but before she could finish the door was pulled open, a hand slammed down over her mouth and she was jerked into the depths of Justin's office while he slammed the door shut.

“Want to announce it to the entire office that I'm fucking the boss?”

“You're fucking the boss?” she asked. Justin rolled his eyes and mentally counted down from ten. When he reached one, Daphne's eyes widened. “Holy shit! You got laid! - Holy shit! Brian fucked you? You had sex with Brian?”

Grinning as much as his friend's predictability as the accomplishment itself, Justin nodded and settled down happily behind his desk. “It was incredible,” he admitted. “He was just amazing.”

“Did it hurt?” she asked. “I mean, when I had sex with Eric, it kind of hurt.”

“It did at first, but he was so gentle with me, and god, it was just amazing.” For a moment Justin was lost in the memory.

“How did it happen? I mean, whenever you two were anywhere near each other the sexual energy could be felt all the way in Thailand, but what happened last night?”

“It just happened,” Justin said with a shrug. “I have no idea how. One minute we were roughing out a plan for that perfume ad, the next we were kissing - and then we were tumbling in his bed and … we went from there.”

“Oh my god. You have to tell me everything. All the detail,” Daphne said as she plopped into the couch, looking at him avidly. “God, the very idea is just too hot for words.”

“He started out with just a gentle ---“ and Justin bit down on his tongue. Daphne frowned, about to ask what was wrong when suddenly Justin's door was opening and Gardner Vance came in.

“Justin, Brian ran the new 'Heat' ad by me and I wanted to come by and say - you look different today.”

“Erm, okay. Thanks for taking the time to let me know,” Justin said, trying not to blush as the man he regarded as his father shut the door and came close to inspect him.

“Has something happened?” Vance asked.

“No, I'm brilliant,” Justin said. “Fantastic.” Daphne giggled and Justin shot her a glare.

Vance eyed the two of them and then shook his head. “I also wanted to ask you about the progress regarding detective Rikert.” Justin had informed Vance about his discovery and Vance had made several attempts to ship Justin across the seas until this thing blew over. 

“Nothing so far. And if you're restricting JT from going out and kicking his ass -“

“I don't want you risking that,” Vance cut in. “At the moment, you're control is shaky, you have difficulty with the man and you've barely made contact with him. And if, as you say, he is watching you constantly then you would be risking your identity as well if you went after him. No, at the moment I think it best if you sit and wait and we'll come up with a plan.”

“He won't be watching forever,” Justin said. “He's patient to a point.”

Vance placed a hand on Justin's shoulder and squeezed. “I'm not risking you unnecessarily.”

“I'm at risk anyway. I might as well be useful,” Justin countered.

“You're of little use to anyone when you are overwhelmed. We'll think of something.” Justin nodded his head, but he was unconvinced.

…………………..

“Come in,” Brian called in response to the knock on his door, and then smirked, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers when Justin came through the door.

“Hey. I'm dropping off the finalized boards for the Stenson account. Teresa was insisting that you specifically called for pink in the background, but that didn't seem right to me so I switched it to green. How's this?” He flipped the board around the show Brian. “I can switch it back if you actually wanted the pink.”

“I didn't ask for the pink,” Brian said.

“Good, because it didn't seem like the kind of thing that you would - okay, well, here you go,” Justin placed the boards by Brian's desk and attempted to make a hasty retreat when he realized he was babbling.

“Justin,” Brian called, and Justin found himself looping back to stand by the desk. “What the fuck?” was Brian's comment.

“If I stay here a minute more than absolutely necessary, I'm going to end-up acting on the very naughty thoughts that have been running through my head all day …”

“Well, then what's the rush?” Brian asked, tongue in cheek.

Justin grinned and came around the desk, bracing a knee on Brian's chair, cupping both hands at the back of Brian's head and planting an emphatic kiss on the man's lips. It had been three days since they had first made love, and even with the ads all finalized and ready to go, Justin had ended up at the loft each night, though their pursuits were far more enjoyable.

“The rush is,” Justin purred as he kissed his way down Brian's neck. “You have a meeting in five minutes.”

“Fuck,” Brian said, and Justin laughed as he backed away from the chair.

“Later, I promise,” he teased. “Good luck!” he called as he went through the door, leaving Brian cursing him and attempting to quell his arousal.

“Fucker,” Brian hissed, then stuck his tongue in his cheek, chuffed a laugh and shook his head.
………………….

Brown cars were ugly, but generally inconspicuous unless you were keeping an eye out for ugly brown cars, which Justin was. That was part of the reason why he didn't see the man coming toward him - the rest was because he'd been running through last night when he and Brian had made love through most of the night, and his senses had not been focussed.

The moment he felt the hands on him, his body had one split second to tense and prepare to fight before his senses were overwhelmed by the anger and lust and darkness that was coming off his attacker in waves - then the chloroform rag was brought to his mouth and Justin fell limp like a rag doll in the man's arms.

…………………

Brian silently promised himself that when they got home, he was going to have a very serious talk with his blond lover about his habit of always getting into trouble - first, however, he had to retrieve said blond lover from the new mess he was now in. Glancing in his rear-view, he changed lanes, careful to keep an eye on the brown Volvo several cars ahead of him.

As he drove, Brian took one hand off the wheel and began to shed his suit. He'd been anticipating something happening and had thought it best to be prepared. By the time he followed the brown car down a side street he was Rage. He flicked off the headlights as he followed, and when the car stopped, Brian turned down a side alley and hid his car. When he made it out to the street, Justin and his kidnapper had already disappeared.

……………………

Justin was paralyzed. He was in shock. He was having a panic attack. It felt like maggots were crawling along his body, like he was burning to ashes; he felt as if he would be violently ill, but not even bile would rise to his mouth. He couldn't breath, he couldn't move, he couldn't think. His mind wasn't even his own anymore. The small piece of him that remained alert and alive, that was assessing the situation, demanding the he do something, that he not just let this happen; the part that knew he was strong enough, if only he could get himself together, was trying desperately to erect the mental shields that would protect him from reliving the last moment of every one of Rikert's victims all at once - each horrifying sensation and memory juxtaposed with Rikert's own interpretation of those moments - his arousal, his glee, his sick pride in his work, in his power.

If there were a part of him that was not completely overwhelmed with experiencing and blocking out the horrible images, Justin might have realized that he was bound, naked, covered in a thin filthy sheet to a cheap mattress in an abandoned factory. He might have found some amusement at how depressingly easy it had been to take him down - him, a supposed superhero. What good was a superhero who's powers were so fucking strong that the slightest whiff of evil could send him into a dead faint? But he wasn't thinking clearly.

He lay, sprawled on the dingy mattress, moaning and tugging at the bonds, unable to form thought that was completely his own, unable to block out his soon to be rapist's and murder's plans for his own body. He could see it all happening to him, but he couldn't rise from the memories in order to stop it.

Justin's body spasmed as Rikert's hands clasped around his upper arms. He could hear a low drone, which he assumed to be Rikert's voice, but he couldn't make out the words. 

Justin's eyes opened and stared up at the factory ceiling - unable to process the things he looked at. Not taking in the catwalk above his head, or the purple-clad figure who was staring back at him with warm hazel eyes. He felt something cool and grounding pressed to his chest. He moaned and closed his eyes, trying to focus on whatever that grounding thing was and use that to pull himself free of the chaos. 

The cool thing moved up his chest to his neck and bit him. The bite of what he only then realized to be a blade pulled him a little closer to the surface, and he blinked. In that moment, he processed the widening hazel eyes that he only then realized he was staring into.

He had just enough time to realize that Rage was there before the man above him was yanked off his body and tackled to the floor. Thoughts blared in his mind, overwhelming him, then. The things Rikert was planning to do the superhero were horrific, and after that, he would be back to finish off Justin. Overwhelmed with images of blood, pain and death, Justin did the only thing he could to prevent himself from slipping into the sweet insanity that the muddle of thoughts and images were calling him towards - he passed out.

…………………

Rage punched the number on his cell and waited three rings before a gruff voice on the other end of the line distracted him from his perusal of the exterior of the warehouse that he was fairly certain Justin had been taken into. “Horvath,” the voice stated.

“I've found your serial killer, get your boys down here.” Brian rattled off the address to the rundown building he was now entering via fire escape and then clicked off the phone. Detective Horvath wasn't the Chief of police, but he was a good cop and had no problem with the gruff tips that Rage would leave him. Brian had known that any superhero needed good contacts with the police department, and it had been a matter of luck that had led him to Horvath. 

Rage made his way up the stairs, ducking through the door and into the building, proceeding as quickly and yet as quietly as he could manage. He was hoping for something that would offer him a sight of the warehouse floor so he could see where the man had taken Justin and what he was doing with him - though from the many files he had perused in his research of the cases, he was fairly certain what was planned for his twink. 

After following a long hallway, Rage was confronted with a rusted door that led onto a catwalk. He ducked into a crouch and looked about the lower floor. The light in the place was scant as the windows were covered in grime but at the other end of building Rage could see a lamp that hung, swinging slightly, above a bed. He hurried in that direction, keeping his body low.

In a room that was covered in filth and dust, cluttered with cardboard boxes and little else, the bed that Rage found himself peering down at was remarkably clean - which seemed a bit ironic, considering what Rage knew that bed had been used for.

There were cream coloured sheets that lay rumpled across the mattress that - upon closer inspection - was sunken. Rage wasn't paying attention to the bed, however, he couldn't take his eyes away from Justin, who had been bound to the bed frame with thick ropes that were cutting into his skin. The man had obviously drugged the blond, because Justin's eyes were glazed and his breathing was heavy and he was shaking his head as if having an internal conversation with himself.

Rage managed to look away from Justin when movement from a nearby chair caught his attention, and he was startled to realize he knew the man who was casually divesting himself of his jacket and tie - it was Rikert.

It was like falling into one of his nightmares. Memories of the sound of a bat cracking against flesh and bone were one thing. It had been difficult enough for him to deal with being those few seconds slow in saving Justin that first time; he wasn't fool enough to not realize there had been a connection between them even then. But now, whatever it was that existed between them had definitely developed since two years ago, when whatever it was existed only as a spark of electricity that passed between them when their eyes connected that one moment - shared pain and a memory. It had all changed, and for the first time in all the years he had led the dual life of Brian Kinney and Rage - he found he was unable to separate the two.

Rage, in full attire, crouched on the catwalk in an abandoned factory, staring down into the glazed eyes of his lover and felt lost. Brian's doubts and insecurities were rising, he felt responsible for leading his lover into this mess. Rage was used to attracting villains - Justin was a nineteen-year-old kid who hadn't even been back in the Pitts for a full year yet. 

He watched, frozen, as Rikert, his shirt unbuttoned exposing a heavily furred chest and a rounding belly, was climbing onto the bed - positing himself above Justin's body until all Rage could see of the blond was his face as Rikert whispered things that made the blue-eyed youth wince as he explored and tasted the exposed skin splayed beneath him.

Fingers stroked, nails bit, tongue laved and teeth scraped, and Brian tried to pull himself together, but Justin was staring up at him with the most agonized expression that defeat and agony and terror and pain. It wasn't until the blue eyes scrunched close that Brian was able to jerk himself free and his eyes slid down to where he noticed a sharp blade was busy drawing blood.

Rage returned then. He felt himself moving faster than he ever had, leaping from the catwalk without bothering to wonder if he were too far up to land safely - Rage didn't care. His feet touched the ground and he was already grabbing hold of the hair on the back of Rikert's hair and yanking him to the foot of the bed. 

He wasn't thinking clearly, so it took him a moment to process the sirens, but when he did he began to drag the struggling man towards the warehouse doors. He moved quickly, not wanting the police to burst into the warehouse and find Justin as he was. He pushed open the doors and shoved Rikert out roughly, releasing the grip on the man's hair.

Police cars surrounded them; their lights flashing and by cops, each with their guns cocked and aimed. “What is this?” one of the officers asked, and Rage recognized Stockwell. In a flash Rage turned his attention to the quivering man who was still half-clad. Before Rikert could even formulate an excuse, Rage convinced him to be honest for once in his life.

“You're here for me!” Rikert declared, though he was crying and his voice was cracking as he spoke.

“This is ridiculous,” Stockwell said. “Lower your weapons.”

“Keep your guns on him!” Horvath advised, and the other officers paused a moment in confusion before Rikert took the uncertainty away from them.

“I killed them all - sweet little whores that they were,” he said, a dark smile twisting his features. “They begged me, begged me to stop hurting them, begged me to let them go - and then they begged me to just let them die.”

“Don't say anything else,” Stockwell ordered his partner.

“I don't need to hear anything else,” Horvath said, his voice clearly ringing with disgust. “Arrest him.”

“They were so good - so tight,” Rikert was continuing.

“That's enough,” one of the officers said, and Rage paused only long enough to see the cuffs snap closed before he turned on his heel and headed back into the warehouse.

Horvath found him carefully rapping a sheet around a young blond who lay unconscious on a bed surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. “I'll call an ambulance,” Horvath offered as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed and noticed that the boy's wrists and ankles were cut.

“It's fine,” Rage said. Horvath looked between the blond on the bed, and the superhero he had known for well over five years. He'd never once seen the man pay any interest in the victims he saved beyond offloading them on medics. Rage was all for dramatic entrances and exists, he was certainly not one for hovering.

Still, Horvath watched as the masked man carefully stroked stay locks of blond hair behind one perfect seashell ear, and he nodded. “We'll need to question him about what happen. Rikert's made a confession, but this is the only victim that's lived so he might be called to testify depending on how things go.”

“He'll come speak with you when he's ready,” Rage said gruffly.

Horvath nodded and patted Rage's shoulder. “Thanks for the tip - as usual, you're one step ahead of us on this.” Horvath made his exit, knowing better than to linger and possibly infuriate the man. They might have shared information with each other over the years, working together to solve cases, but Rage wasn't exactly sociable, and in truth, he intimidated Horvath. He didn't risk glancing over his shoulder as he exited the warehouse; Carl wasn't exactly certain what Rage's powers were. Instead, he got in his car and headed back to the station where he could finally rap up this case.

…………………………….

Justin awoke to warm breath ghosting across his face and the feel of a hand cupping the back of his head. He was aware that he was naked, but covered in a cool sheet. He was also aware that he should be freaking out, panicking, hyperventilating and generally falling apart. Instead, the presence that he could feel so very close to his own body wasn't making him scared at all. He wasn't being bombarded by any foreign emotions or thoughts or memories. Everything was quiet and calm.

He blinked open his eyes, and was oddly surprised when he was confronted by the masked face of Rage. His thoughts began spinning then, his breath picked up and he frowned as he stared closely into the warm hazel eyes of the superhero who had now rescued him twice -- or two and a half times, Justin didn't count those thieves, he could have taken them.

Rage seemed to misunderstand his reaction as the masked man stroked a thumb gently over Justin's cheekbone and then their mouths came together like magnets. Justin lost himself in the kiss. In the gentle stroke of the warm tongue he allowed into his mouth. He let Rage's warm taste clear away the nightmare he had just experienced; let the feel of warm hands running gently over his body, simultaneously assessing damage and bringing pleasure, lull him into a state of calm, let them push away the pain and terror that was a result of the attack.

When they broke apart, Justin blinked open his eyes and finally allowed himself to make the connection that he had been fighting since he had opened his eyes only a few moments before. No. If he were honest, he had known before this, but it had seemed too much to be believed.

He smiled and cupped the back of Rage's head and brought familiar lips down to meet his own. Justin kissed the masked superhero like the lover he knew him to be, and when they broke apart, he knew, from the expression on the other man's face, that Rage had received his message. “I won't tell anyone,” Justin promised, then leaned up to reclaim Brian's lips.