Not that kind of help

[Jensen James]

There was a sense of movement, gliding waves both beneath him and kicking around in his stomach. Bright lights rimmed the edges of squeezed eyes. He heard himself grumble something, but even he didn't know what he was trying to say. He was answered with a pat and the strong pinch of a needle biting into one arm. Could have at least warned him it was coming, but apathy washed with the warmth pushed in his veins and sleep took him.


...To be continued.