Simon was in no better mood when Tim bundled his bags through the narrow front door of the apartment. It didn't help that Tim felt a sense of frustration as soon as he saw the scowl waiting for him.

"What?"

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Tim tried to remember if there'd ever been a time when Simon didn't hate him – and show it. He remembered how lucky he'd felt those years ago, when he'd needed an apartment urgently and had met Simon in the dining hall. Tim had been living in a rough motel when he arrived in the city, and it was eating away at his savings, not to mention meaning a long and expensive commute to school. Simon had been Scotty's friend – or not friend, really, just someone he'd met in one of his first classes – and had been looking for a roommate.

Tim had only known Scotty since orientation, but he'd been nice, so Tim had trusted his friendship choosing abilities. Probably a bad idea, in hindsight. But Simon hadn't been excessively cruel, at first. Sure, he had a biting tongue and no patience for Tim's flaky behavior, but that wasn't exactly a novelty. The problems had only truly kicked in when Tim had admitted he was struggling to find a new job and wasn't going to be able to cover rent.

Simon wasn't even gay, or bi, or anything except a self-proclaimed hundred percent straight. It hadn't stopped him looking at Tim that way when he'd come up with his suggestion for how Tim could make money, and he'd had a few choice words about it – words that made Tim shudder, and brought back the kind of memories that led to nightmares.

But he'd done it. He couldn't afford to make Simon angry, and he didn't have any other options. He knew Simon was ripping him off, though. He took all the money, paid the bills and the rent, and gave Tim a small allowance. But he never let Tim see the bills, and Tim didn't even really know how much he made. He was usually a little out of it by the end of a show, but from what he did know, it was at least a few hundred every week, and Simon was still pushing for him to do more.

He was going to have to do something about that. He'd even asked, from those sessions where he'd had the huge tips from Virgil, whether there was anything extra coming his way, but Simon had scoffed, and said all it did was make up for the weeks where he barely made anything. He'd pay more attention tonight. He didn't want to keep doing this, he knew Xander wouldn't like it, and even though he wasn't embarrassingly possessive, there was something that color in the way he spoke and acted, the way he owned Tim – and the way Tim loved it. It wouldn't be right to keep putting himself out there.

"I'm here now," was all he said to Simon. "I'm showering, and then I'm ready."

He remembered how Xander had wanted to introduce him to some of his friends tonight. He wanted that – the normality – even if meeting new people made him sweat because they usually found him annoying, or stupid. But he wasn't his own person right now. Hadn't been for a while, though it felt good to push back against Simon lately, to choose Xander.

He showered quickly, the usual process of cleaning and prepping for what was coming. He was entirely unsurprised when he came out of his room, wearing nothing more than his standard 'show' boxers, and Simon was setting up his chair to face the computer; lube and the blue dildo sitting on the side table. Tim shuddered, but this was going to be done. If he thought optimistically, maybe this could be the last time. He'd been applying for a few jobs again. Real jobs, where he was guessing his weirdness wouldn't be as much of a problem. They'd be more interested in his learning, he could hope.

"It's almost time," Simon's sneer brought Tim out of his thoughts with a jolt. "Same as yesterday, you're going to have to do whatever they ask."

"Sure," Tim sighed, not even willing to argue about it.

He climbed onto the chair and started the usual process, even more disengaged from it than usual. He wasn't even bothering with eye contact into the camera, which he knew annoyed Simon, but there was no point. In the many sessions he'd been doing this for, there'd only been one person he'd been happy to make eye contact with, and he hadn't seen Virgil since the day the old guy had helped him plan out his seduction of Xander. Not even to thank him, which Tim really wanted to do, in any way he wanted.

Except...except that could be more complicated now. He hadn't really had anything when they'd first encountered each other. No reason to hold back, to not pay someone back in that way – in this way, as he rode his own fingers, tongue flicking around the fat head of the dildo – but that had changed. The thought hit him hard, freezing him in place for a moment.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Simon hissed from behind the laptop.

Tim shook his head to clear it, frowning at the interruption. Simon approached slowly, as ever reluctant to be caught on camera. It was one of his, few, better traits, and Tim knew it had saved him from a lot since they'd started this. He could see the look in Simon's eye though – not even emotive enough to be called anger right then – annoyance that Tim was messing this up, again.

Before Tim knew it, Simon had grabbed the floppy blue plastic from his unfocused grasp. Simon glanced to the camera, checking his face stayed out of shot, his arm shooting out in a stance that might have looked threatening if it hadn't been so ludicrous.

"What is with you, Simon? Worried your cash cow might vanish?"

"Shut up! Don't say my name on camera."

"What the- ? Do you really think anyone who tumbles across this and sees me doesn't know instantly that you're in on it too? Why would you even care?"

Really, Tim could think of a lot of reasons why Simon would care, but, equally, he was past it now. Sick of it. Even as the brief flash of panic about what he'd do instead entered his brain, he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm not doing this. I'm not letting you pimp me out any more-,"

"You'll do what I tell you."

Simon was presumably going for stern. Even dominant. But a minimal amount of time with Xander had quickly shown Tim what that really looked like.

He jumped off the chair, eyeline flicking to the laptop as the chat messages scrolled up from over-excited subscribers.

"They want to see you take this," Simon sneered as he glanced too.

Tim had no idea if that was true – he couldn't see the actual words from his slightly protected stance on the other side of the chair – but it didn't matter, he was so far into 'not in the mood' there was no getting back from it.

"No."

"You little-,"

Simon advanced, and Tim covered his mouth at the giggle that bubbled up at the ridiculous sight of him, huge dildo wobbling, face in a grimace.

"I said, No."

Tim shifted, moving away from the chair, putting the table between them instead. It was just so stupid. What the hell did Simon think he was going to do? Tim was making his mind up. Simon could get fucked. He'd ask Ange or Scotty. They were moving in together soon now that the semester had finished, he'd bet they'd let him sleep on their couch until he got a real job. He was a lot steadier these days, anyway. Not as useless as he'd been back when he lost that last job – he'd get something, even if it was in fast food or something.

Tim might have been feeling calmer, but it was apparent Simon was building himself up into a fury of epic proportions – his face getting progressively redder, his eyes bulging, the vitriol he was spitting getting crueler. But Tim was barely listening.

Simon lunged, teeth bared, and Tim pushed back – pushing the table against Simon's thighs to stop him. The laptop teetered, sliding to the edge, and then it fell, slamming shut as it crashed onto the thin carpet. Tim finally felt a bolt of actual fear as Simon roared, but he didn't wait, sprinting to his bedroom and slamming the door, pushing the dresser across the space so the edge was over the door – he couldn't get it any further, it was too heavy, but that was enough to stop Simon just coming in.

It didn't stop him from screaming at Tim, though, threatening him now that he said the laptop was broken too, and Tim owed him for it. He ran out of steam when he worked out he couldn't shift the door, just warning Tim that he'd have to come out eventually. There was a banging on the door, so they'd probably annoyed the neighbors, but Simon could deal with that fall out.

Tim was surprised when there was more shouting, inside the apartment, though it didn't sound like Simon. After a few minutes there was a knock on his door that sounded almost tentative.

"I'm not coming out so just fuck off," he did his best angry growl, fully aware it sounded a lot more like a mewling kitten.

"Timothy, Angel, will you let me in?"

"Xander?"

"Please."

Of course he would let him in, and he struggled against the dresser until it popped just far enough past the door for it to open.

He was greeted by Xander's worried face as he rushed in the room, pulling Tim against him.

"Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? I'll kill that little-,"

"He didn't, Sir, I promise." Tim's voice was muffled from being pressed into his chest, but he was pretty okay with that.

He nuzzled in, breathing in the sweet, woodsy scent, wrapping his arms as far as he could around Xander's middle, calming.

"Hey, Angel," Xander whispered finally, "can you pack a bag? I want you to come home with me."

That sounded like the best idea ever, and Tim nodded eagerly. Xander let go of him long enough for him to pull his case free from his wardrobe, and he threw in the bags that he hadn't unpacked from their earlier shopping trip.

"Anything precious you want with you?"

"Don't really have anything..."

Xander put his hands on Tim's shoulders, gently kissing his forehead.

"Well, you're all the precious I need. Let's go."

Xander held Tim's hand as they walked back into the main room, where Simon was pressed against the back of the couch, wild-eyed, with a blossoming bruise on his cheek, a tall black man with broad, muscular shoulders glaring down at him from a few feet away. Tim suddenly felt exhausted, too tired to even ask who it was or what had happened, and happily let the man pick up his case, as Xander easily lifted Tim into his arms and carried him down the stairs to a waiting car – a sleek, dark, sporty-looking thing. The black guy slid into the driver's seat after putting Tim's case in the trunk, and Tim stayed snuggled on Xander's lap as they drove the short distance – quick at this time of night – to his apartment.

Tim was curled up on Xander's couch while he said goodbye to his friend at the door, almost asleep. It wasn't until Xander came back and looked down with tenderness that it suddenly hit him.

"Hang on. How did you know to come get me?"

A/N: don't drive across town on someone's lap. That shit's illegal.

Anyway, is Xander in trouble?