Summary: Rachel and Quinn are kidnapped and taken into the human trafficking trade to be used for sexual exploitation, but one of the guys that runs the trade makes them a deal: if they put on a show for his customers by having sex with each other, he won't sell them to his customers for sex. Written for a prompt on the glee kink meme.

Warning: Elements of dub con.

Author's note: I don't even know where this came from. I was in a really dark headspace and in the need of some Faberry hurt/comfort.

"I can't do this," Rachel's voice breaks as she clutches onto you tighter, burying her face into your neck.

"I'm sorry," you reply softly, wrapping your arms around her protectively, wishing more than anything that you could take away the fear radiating off your girlfriend. She's so afraid, and the fact that you can't alleviate her distress is breaking your heart. "You know I love you, right?" you ask.

"Yes," she whimpers, her breath cascading across your skin, causing you to shudder.

It shouldn't feel so good, and you can't help but feel guilty, because this is far from the ideal time for your body to react to the sensations your girlfriend elicits in you. You inhale, trying to gather your senses, before letting out a long breath and tightening your hold on her. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend the circumstances of the moment are completely different.

But you aren't allowed that luxury because seconds later, the door to the small room you are being kept in opens. Rachel tenses, and you instinctively pull her closer to you as you look over at the man walking towards you.

You hate yourself for having trusted him, even though you had no reason not to. "Talent agent," you think to yourself bitterly as you recall how excited Rachel had been when he gave her his card.

He stands over you now and smirks, and you narrow your eyes at him in disgust. Immediately, his expression hardens, and with terrifying swiftness, he tightly grips onto your chin as he brings his face close to yours. He smells of cigarette smoke and sweat, and you can't stop the fear that rises up in you at his close proximity. You hope he hasn't changed his mind due to your inability to control yourself.

"Don't make me regret my generosity," he growls, his fingers tightening, causing you to wince. "Otherwise, I'll be more than happy to sell your girl to the next man who walks through the door."

Your stomach drops at the thought, and your girlfriend holds you even tighter. You'd rather die than let anyone touch her without her consent. You swallow thickly before answering, "I'm sorry."

"You better be," he replies before loosening his hold on you. It's then that you notice he's holding something. You realize numbly that it's lingerie. "Put this on," he orders as he throws it on the ground next to you. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Then, it's show time."

You shudder at the thought, but you know it's better than the alternative. You watch him leave through narrowed eyes, and it's not until he's gone that you look back to the girl in your arms. Immediately your gaze softens as you meet her nervous expression.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips and wishing there was some way out of this.

Reluctantly, you gently extract yourself from her grip and begin to change into the underwear that has been given to you—black lace top thigh highs with a matching thong and shelf bra—and you can't help but find it utterly humiliating. You've never worn anything like this before, but if you did, you wanted it to be only for your girlfriend's eyes.

Feeling decidedly self-conscious, you glance at Rachel who is now looking at you with the most conflicted expression you have ever seen. The moment your eyes meet, she averts her gaze, and without hesitation, you're down on your knees in front of her.

You cup her face with both hands, urging her to return your gaze. "Rachel, look at me. Please."

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," she whispers brokenly, her guilt evident as she finally meets your eyes.

Your heart drops at the sight. "Don't be. This… this isn't your fault," you whisper, resting your forehead against hers as you gaze into her chocolate brown eyes intently. You press another kiss to Rachel's lips, this time lingering a bit longer than before, trying to get her to relax to no avail. You try to ignore how much that hurts.

"Come on, let's get you changed," you say after reluctantly breaking your kiss, knowing you're short on time and not wanting to upset your kidnapper further.

With a little more coaxing, you manage to help her into the outfit left for her—a sheer black garter dress with thigh high fishnets. To your slight relief, it's a bit less revealing than your attire, although you doubt it will make much difference once you start to "put on a show." Your jaw clenches involuntarily at the thought of anyone except you seeing the parts of Rachel that had been for your eyes only.

As you finish pulling her stockings up the smooth, tanned skin of her legs, the door to your room opens again, causing you both to tense. Rachel lets out a soft whimper, and you immediately move your body to shield hers as she grips onto you once more.

A dark chuckle sounds above you, and you look over your shoulder to see your captor's dark eyes trailing over your bodies with lust, and you can't stop the fear that ripples through you at the sight. It's sickening to be looked at like that—like you're nothing more than some object for his pleasure.

He reaches down then, his hand squeezing your backside, causing you to tense up as your stomach drops. He chuckles again as his fingers then trail up your spine before gripping onto your hair, turning your head, and forcing you to meet his gaze. "Better make it a good show, blondie," he says with a cruel smirk before turning his gaze onto Rachel, who is now shaking in your arms, her face buried in your neck once more.

Your jaw tightens as you instinctively draw her closer to your body, wanting nothing more than to protect her.

"Let's go," he growls, releasing his uncomfortable hold on your hair.

You shakily come to stand on both legs, drawing your girlfriend up with you. He grabs onto your upper arm and pulls you out of the room. You're led down a narrow hallway before taking a sharp right turn. Your kidnapper relinquishes his hold on you as he opens a door and shoves you through it.

You don't know exactly what to expect, but when you are thrust into a room filled with a dozen men in various states of undress, you can't help but internally panic. They leer at you—their eyes fixated on your chest—and it make you feel incredibly afraid and sick to your stomach. You didn't think it was possible, but Rachel's grip on you grows even tighter.

"I can't do this," she whispers again, and, honestly, you're not sure you can either.

It's disgusting and dehumanizing, knowing you are only here for their pleasure. And while it's a relief that you don't have to touch them or let them touch you, knowing that they're going to get off on watching you and your girlfriend doesn't make it that much better.

Rachel whimpers, pressing herself into your back and hiding herself from their hungry eyes. You know that she needs you to be strong—to take care of her—and it's enough to make you push aside your own fear at what's happening and focus getting her through this.

So you turn your attention away from the unpleasant leers, reverently place both hands on either side of her face, and gaze into fearful brown eyes. Your heart breaks at the sight, and you want nothing more than to take that fear away. You gaze intently at her then—silently telling her all you wish you could say out loud—before pressing a kiss to her lips. It's meant to comfort and soothe her, and you can feel her relax ever so slightly, and so you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

You try to ignore the catcalls and grunts of appreciation at the sight of you kissing your girlfriend and pray that she continues to stay focused on your lips and tongue. Your intention isn't meant for their titillation but rather to show Rachel how far you would go to make sure she's safe.

Never breaking your kiss, you gently guide her to the mattress on the floor until she's flat on her back. You hover over her and continue to kiss her thoroughly. You close your eyes and get lost in her kiss. You feel her relax more and more, and for a brief moment you forget where you are.

The blunt force of a wooden cane cracking against the back of your thighs abruptly brings you back to the reality of your situation, and you can't stop the sharp cry that escapes from your lips against Rachel's as you jerk forward painfully.

"Better get a move on, blondie," your kidnapper warns before delivering another harsh blow to your legs.

You hiss in pain, unable to stop tears from pricking your eyes. Rachel looks up at you—her chocolate eyes ridden with guilt as she mashes her lips together.

Swallowing down your pain, you press another kiss to her lips. "This isn't your fault," you assure her softly, this time making sure to move your hands to well-known territory.

Your hands slide over her bra-covered breasts and squeeze. Grunts of approval sound around you, making your gut twist in an awful way, but you do your best to ignore it. But that proves to be impossible when to your heart's discontent, Rachel begins to cry quietly.

"Shh, baby," you say quietly, unable to keep the urgency out of your voice. "Please don't cry. I'm trying, Rachel," you say, dropping an urgent kiss to her lips and caressing the smooth expanses of her exposed skin—both in an effort to soothe her and placate your voyeurs. "Just focus on me, okay?" you say, again pressing another kiss against soft lips before lowering your mouth against her left ear. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

She nods almost imperceptibly, and you can't help but feel relieved. You move your mouth to her jaw, nipping lightly there, and then against the soft skin of her neck as you bring your hands back towards her breasts.

Your fingers slip beneath the fabric that covers her chest, and you do your best to block out the men's crude shouts to "squeeze her titties" and instead try to pretend it's just you and her alone in her bedroom. Her fingers threading through your blonde locks make it easier to carry on that illusion.

You push aside the thin material of her bra and bring your mouth to her right nipple and suckle at it as your other hand pinches her left nipple lightly. Rachel arches her back and tightens her hold on your hair, drawing your mouth further against her chest.

Loud moans echo through the room, and none of them belong to you or your girlfriend. As if against your will, your eyes crack open, and in your peripheral vision, you catch sight of a pair of men jacking off to you pleasuring Rachel. A wave of nausea courses through you, and it's enough to make you momentarily forget your girlfriend.

Swallowing thickly, you once again try to push down your own terror at the situation and close your eyes. You remind yourself of what you need to do—protect Rachel and get her through this as best you can. You tell yourself that you can cry later when this is all over.

Letting out a sharp exhale against Rachel's chest, you bite down harder on her nipple and squeeze tightly, and the sound of her strangled moan is enough to get you to regather yourself. You manage to briefly shut out the lewd sounds surrounding you, and focus on the delicious body beneath you.

You remind yourself that she is yours not theirs.

And you will keep doing whatever it takes to keep it that way.

Slowly, your right hand dips lower. Your fingers brush against her hips before hooking onto the flimsy material of what barely passes as a skirt. You hesitate slightly before deciding that it's better to keep going than second guess.

As you begin to draw the garment down her thighs, your mouth moves across her chest. Your teeth capture her left nipple and bite down gently. Rachel gasps, and the men voice their approval. You watch as she swallows thickly in response, and you can only let out a mournful sigh as you lightly squeeze her thigh, trying to draw her attention back to you.

It seems to work.

You continue to pull the skirt down her legs and try to quell the feeling of arousal that courses through you—the natural reaction to feeling your girlfriend's soft skin beneath your fingertips. But when you feel her shaking beneath you, that arousal is instantly squashed.

Guilt courses though you, and your brow furrows. This isn't what you intended. It isn't… you don't know what you intended. How could you?

Needing to see her—to show her how much you love her, care for her, and would do anything to protect her—you draw your head away from her breasts and gaze down at her, making sure to keep your eyes locked on hers. You lean down then, pressing a kiss to her lips—still keeping your eyes open—as you cup her sex.

She feels warm and surprisingly wet beneath your fingers, and once again you forget where you are and moan into her mouth. She bucks into your hand, and you try to pretend…

"Stick your fingers in her cunt!" a vulgar voice shouts from across the room, followed by the men's perverted encouragement.

Rachel tenses beneath you and once again begins to cry, and you can't help but break in that moment, despite your intention to be strong—to be her protector.

You wish you could ignore it—ignore them and the fact that you are being forced into the role of exhibitionist—but you can't. You can't ignore their demeaning comments, because it's obvious they are getting to Rachel.

And, if you were to be completely honest, they're getting to you as well. It scares you, and you're afraid that any moment now, one of them might reach out and touch you or, worse, Rachel.

Yes, you made a deal. You made a deal that you would put on a show for this disgusting man's customers, but you don't know if he'll honor it. You don't know if he'll change his mind.

You just don't know anything at all, and it terrifies you.

You can only hope that Rachel doesn't notice just how angry and afraid you actually are right now. You let out a calming breath, trying to ignore tapping of your kidnapper's cane against the floor and the sting in your thighs.

A perverse thought of Rachel once telling you that "the show must go on" sounds in your mind then. So you swallow down your fear and press your lips to hers.

"Rachel," you whisper against her mouth before trailing your lips down her jaw and next to her ear. "Just remember that no matter what happens, I love you."

And with those words, you slip two fingers into warm wet heat.

She gasps and sobs, and there are catcalls all around you, but you don't want her to know anything but you right now. "Focus on me, Rach," you breathe against her ear.

You spare a glance to the men in the room, trying to gauge whether or not this is enough to appease them. It seems to be more than enough, you realize with a sickening shudder, before closing your eyes again and focusing on the feeling of your fingers moving slowly in and out of Rachel.

Pleasuring Rachel has always been one of your favorite things. You've literally spent entire nights with your head between her legs, sucking and licking her like there was no tomorrow. Her taste is addictive, and you don't think you could ever get enough.

But it was always something… almost sacred to you. It wasn't something to be shared outside the bedroom.

It was something just for the two of you.

But that sense of intimacy has been shattered.

You swallow down your sadness and let out a shuddering breath against the soft skin of her throat before biting down on her shoulder. She lets out a quiet moan at the sensation, and it spurs something in you.

It's not entirely right or rational, but you think that if you can at least somehow bring her pleasure, it will make up for the horrific situation you are both in right now.

Your fingers begin to move faster within her, and she groans softly. You smile sadly and press your forehead to hers, locking your eyes on hers, as you continue to pump in and out of her—trying to convey everything you wish you could say through your touch alone.

But you can't ignore the tap-tap-tapping of the cane against the floor next to the mattress you're lying on. You glance up at your kidnapper fearfully, and the tapping pauses as do your gentle thrusts. He leans down then, and your stomach drops at his close proximity. He whispers in your ear, and it fills you will anxiety. "If she doesn't start touching you, I will."

You swallow thickly as he draws back, and you turn your attention back to Rachel. You realize then that she has been watching your interaction with fearful eyes.

"Baby," you murmur, trying to keep your tone soothing, but your voice wavers slightly with fear. "I need you to touch me."

Brown eyes gaze at you guiltily for a moment before her fingers loosen their hold on your hair and slide down—her left hand stopping at the nape of your neck; and her right continuing downward, dipping along the curve of your spine until it reaches your lower back—touching those places that always makes you melt. Her thumbs gently caress your skin, and, as always, her touch soothes you, and your fear begins to dissipate.

Moments later, she leans up and presses her lips to yours. You close your eyes and return her kiss with a quiet desperation as you begin to slowly pump your fingers again. You wish so much for everything outside of you to disappear forever. You wish it was just you and her.

But it can't be—you know this—you know it with depressing clarity.

Rachel's hands then slide around to the front of your body, fingers brushing against your clavicle, before slipping downward to cup your breasts. They squeeze lightly, and your jaw falls open as you gasp into her mouth.

This is a welcome sight for your voyeurs, but there is really only one of them you hope you are pleasing. No, not pleasing—you wish he would suffer the pain of a thousand deaths—but you hope you are appeasing him after what he threatened you with.

Your jaw clenches at the thought, but your fingers continue to move in and out of Rachel's hot, tight channel as you press your lips to her pulse point.

She tweaks your nipples between the tips of her fingers—causing you to cry out in pleasure—as she pants against your neck. But you don't miss the hitch in her breath—the telltale sign of crying. Your head snaps back, and you gaze down at her.

"Rachel…"

"I heard him," she whimpers before slipping her left hand between your legs. Your eyes roll back into your head, and your head drops against her collarbone. "I heard him threaten you."

You swallow again. You didn't want her to hear that. You didn't want her to know. You didn't want her to be anymore afraid than she already was.

"I'm sorry," she says with a heartbroken sigh as she pushes two slender fingers inside you.

She feels so good inside you, and you can't help but let out a choked sob as you lower your mouth to hers.

"Don't be," you say tearfully, pushing your fingers deeper into her while feeling every inch of her inside you. "I love you," you say again, taking your free hand and pressing it against her right ear as you murmur into her left, "I love you."

You say it over and over again so that it's the only thing Rachel can hear. You only want her to hear your words of love and feel your fingers claiming her.

You continue to thrust into her, all the while listening to the men surrounding you get off on it. But you don't care. You don't, because you know that you kept Rachel safe.

You kept her safe, and she is still yours. Not theirs.

Never theirs.

Rachel whimpers and begins to tighten around your fingers. You feel yourself clench around her in response.

Her breaths are hot against your neck, and you push into her harder, wanting nothing more than for her to unravel around your touch.

It doesn't take long. Within minutes, she is coming around your fingers, and the sensation alone makes you clench tightly against her digits buried inside you before you yourself come apart against her gentle thrusts.

You pull your fingers out of her, and she whimpers softly against your ear before following suit and drawing slender digits from your tight channel.

Forcing your eyes open, you move your head back up and gaze down intently into deep chocolate—and you see pain and anguish and love reflected back to you.

It breaks your heart and mends it all at once.

There's a shuffling of clothing and movement around you as your voyeurs begin to leave, and there are a few more crude comments made, but you keep your eyes trained on Rachel's, just needing to be connected with her like this for as long as you're allowed. It's the only thing keeping you from completely breaking right now.

It's not until a dark shadow falls over you that you break your gaze from her.

"Not bad," your kidnapper says, his expression inscrutable. "Not bad," he repeats, before letting his lips curl up into a cruel smirk as he taps his cane three times against the floor besides you. "But you better do better next time, blondie."

He turns on his heels then and departs from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving you and Rachel alone.

Now that you're alone, you can't stop the feelings of shame that come from the realization that a group of men have just gotten off to the sight of watching you make love to your girlfriend.

You let out a shaky breath, unable to stop tears from pricking your eyes—feeling incredibly guilty for everything that has just transpired.

Rachel notices your distress and swallows down her own tears as she draws you into her. She wraps her arms around you, and you close your eyes, breathing her in.

You're grateful for the role reversal, because you need this right now—need her to comfort you until you can push down your feelings of humiliation and shame. What you just experienced was beyond dehumanizing, and you know that you never want to go through that again, and you especially don't want Rachel to either.

You know you need to figure out a way out of this. Until then, you're stuck choosing the lesser of two evils.