A/N: I'm updating this story because my friend won't stop nagging me. -.- But what the hell, I love this story too anyway, and I am happy to see it is wanted by the readers. :D Midterms are finished! Woohoo! Gonna write and draw lots and lots (though only for a brief moment before the finals intrude my life again). Fellow RussPruss fans, I shall contribute more fanfics and fanarts for this couple, the fics will be posted on FF of course, and the pics will be posted on my DA account (have posted 3 pics, woot!). Check the link on my profile! :D

Warnings: R-18. Language. Violence. Rape. Not for the faint of hearts to read.

Note: Because this is an AU fic, I prefer referring Gilbert as a German. Hope you don't mind.

Chapter Two: Master

After what seemed to be a very odd night he had thought was a dream, Gilbert woke up to reality, with his drowsy eyes soon taking the sight of a room too unfamiliar and too big and expensive for him to recognize as his cramped, dirty flat. At first he had thought he was still dreaming, but much to his chagrin, as the right part of his body accidentally bumped into something hard, a sharp, burning pain stung at his right arm and he yelped out loud in response.

His mind became clear and aware almost immediately. Gilbert cursed breathily, his left hand responsively went to touch his arm, which had strangely turned rock hard. Wincing slightly, he turned his gaze and found half of his right arm covered in a white cast, only his fingers sticking out from the tiny gaps the tightly wrapped bandage left. He stared at it.

Then Gilbert threw his gaze further, from his stiffly wrapped arm on the white sheets to the warm brown-colored thick blanket, then the crimson eyes strayed farther, all across his surroundings, at the whole room. It was nighttime, by the darkened scenery beyond a small high window. His eyes bulged slightly. Mein Gott! He had never seen such a ridiculously extensive bed that might fit for at least eight people! And the room-the room was filled with nothing but the most exquisite furniture he recognized were produced by one of the most famous brand for furniture, each beautifully crafted and designed for Kings and Queens. The drawers, the chairs, the grand wardrobe, the carpet, the lamps, the tables, the sofas, the bed--

Gilbert was dumbfounded. He didn't understand. Where the hell was he? How long had he slept?

He clenched his jaw.

This was not funny.

He woke up in a place completely stranger to him, finding himself in a luxurious room within an empty bed he assumed to be so ridiculously expensive, he was sure ten assassinations pay wouldn't cover the whole cost. This was too strange, far too suspicious for comfort. He had looked down to himself and found his clothes had been changed into a clean light blue pajamas. Someone had treated his wounds and took the bullet out. And this feeling of drowsiness… and the way his head felt so heavy… was he drugged?

Then suddenly the recollection of that particularly strange night came to him. He remembered he almost blown his cover on a mission. Gilbert clutched at short silver bangs. He was being chased, yes, he remembered that. He was shot in his right arm. Blood spilt everywhere. He was anemic, exhausted, but he kept running despite almost fainting, especially since the cops had released those damned dogs… then he arrived before tall, iron gates of a wide estate, he saw a silhouette of a mansion beyond the locked gates. And the dogs… the dogs were approaching and he had no choice but to climb in-

Red eyes widened.

And that man.

He remembered now. That big, creepy man he met when he tried to hide within the huge mansion, sneaking through an opened window. He remembered because that man left such a strong impression on him. How icy cold his amethyst eyes were as they assessed him, staring up and down at Gilbert in an odd calmness. How he smiled those empty, hollow smiles that sent shivers up his spine at the mere sight. How the words and the voice escaped those thin smiles sounded so bizarre, pouring down sweet, deadly venoms. And the uncanny wicked feeling he gave out…

Gilbert shuddered.

He glanced at the white cast on his right, clucking his tongue. What the hell, this is nothing. I gotta get away from here quick, he thought, then he pulled off the thick sheets covering his lower body and threw them off of the mattress to sit on the edge of the bed. He halted to check whether the other parts of his body were alright, moving his limbs and stretching his healthy arm. Apparently his right arm was completely fine. Then he swayed his legs, bouncing them up and down. They were fine too. Overall, aside of his bandaged right arm, the rest of his body was in an almost perfect condition, although his head was still heavy from the drug.

My gun. The German suddenly remembered, tossing his head about. Where could his beloved revolver be? Although it was old, it had accompanied him and saved him in wars and missions for many years. It was also a custom-made revolver created by his veteran dad who gave it to him years ago. It was a revolver with a knight symbol crafted beautifully to its handle, and there were only two of the same revolver in the world, he couldn't afford to lose it! And his cell… where was his cellphone? He used that to contact his clients, if it was to be handed to the cops! Gilbert half-panicked, searching for the said gun in the bedside drawer, but found nothing that looked like his revolver.

Nothing. Then Gilbert stood up to look in other places. He went to the expensive wooden drawer near the dressing table, then pulling the top drawer roughly and brusquely with his left hand until it fell off of its socket, various things dropped down to the floor as the drawer hung vertically by the German roughneck. He let it drop with a dull thump nearby his feet, before crouching down and scanning the stuff lied on the carpeted floor with serious eyes. But his gun or cell wasn't among them.

Frowning and furrowing his snowy eyebrows in displease, Gilbert pulled the second drawer in the same manner. The third. The fourth. Until all of them was pulled out and the beautiful drawers were left empty, many things scattered around and across the carpet messily, even after he had gone to search for his revolver in the other drawers and the wardrobe as well, he still hadn't find it.

"Fuck." Gilbert cursed, frustrated. Sweaty silver strands stuck to his forehead. "Where the fuck is it?"

Clothes and things of various kinds and shapes pooled around at his feet, making a huge mess within the floor of the previously tidy room, now much resembling a quarter of a wrecked ship than a King's bedroom, Gilbert had thrown them randomly as he searched for his gun. Even the obviously branded and expensive clothes that got in his way, were thrown carelessly onto the floor or the chair or the table without a second look. An unfortunate white silken Versace shirt was caught by a mushroom-shaped lamp as Gilbert hurled it backward, Giordano underwear wasted the elegance of their monochrome colors inside of a trash bin, while Armani suits were ruined and terribly wrinkled right beneath Gilbert's bare feet.

Apparently, Gilbert was not a man too unmanly to care about some branded clothes. His good ol' revolver meant more than some stupid clothes.

Gilbert had started to feel irritated and panicked. He realized he had wasted too much time searching for his gun instead of trying to escape. He didn't like the idea at all, but

he might have to abandon the family heirloom and choose to escape instead. His life worth more than some old gun after all.

Gilbert gritted his teeth.

There was no way in hell he would leave the fucking place without his revolver. Dead or alive, he could've cared less of that matter until later.

That be the case, then he had to search for it somewhere else, even if he had to search the whole damned mansion. Chances were he would be captured again and might be reported to the police, although that strange Russian man had told him he wouldn't, Gilbert couldn't trust such an untrustworthy statement of a complete stranger.

He stiffened when he heard the sounds of footsteps and voices of some people, instinctively stuck himself to the wall. He waited with heart beating loudly in his ears as he heard the faint voices of people having a conversation just outside of the room. But seconds later, the voices diminished and the footsteps became softer and eventually vanished a short moment later. Gilbert sighed in relief.

From what he had heard last night, although it was only a brief information, the guy who knocked on the door mentioned the names of two guys searching for him within the house. From the way he spoke, it seemed that those two-Eduard and Vash, if he recalled right-were quite trusted for the mansion security. Were they just ordinary guards or professional, trained bodyguards hired as security? Gilbert betted the latter.

Rich people and celebrities had this inclination of hiring expensive bodyguards, and he could tell this one who owned the whole estate had quite the unique tastes in hiring staff. Seriously, hiring a criminal like him as a housekeeper? That Russian was definitely mental. Though he knew those kind of people usually had the strangest hobbies, he had dealt with bored, rich clients who hired him to see if he could 'battle' with other assassins in an underground tournament, in which Gilbert had won and survived, although he avoided killing more than necessary. Apparently they didn't like the fact that Gilbert didn't kill his opponents, but the German could care less, he won the huge price money anyway.

But back then, he survived because his dependable right arm was in a perfect condition. Now with only his left arm to use, he wasn't sure if he could take more than one or two opponents if he was caught sneaking around, although it seemed to be a suicidal mission, he had to give it a try. He was not one to think too much anyway.

Breathing deeply, Gilbert braced himself.

He went to the only exit of the room and slowly placed his ears on the mahogany door. He could hear nothing. Assuming the coast was clear, Gilbert turned the doorknob and let it swing soundlessly forward, sticking his head out to see if there was even a slightest movement or noise. He turned and threw his gaze around across the empty corridor and the turns, no one. No sound of people's footstep or voice. Good. Gilbert stepped outside and left the door opened as he walked carefully and stealthily along the corridor, all the while listening to every sound emerged into the thin air.

At the end of the corridor, just before a right turn, Gilbert stuck his back slightly to the wall, once again sticking his head a bit to see if the coast was clear. Only it wasn't this time. There was two men standing by a door a little far from where he was-which he silently thanked that they were far enough to hear him-one a brunette with a kind face and the other was a shorter, baby-faced and trembly blonde who looked frightened and nervous and was about to cry.

"It's okay, Raivis. There's nothing to be scared of." The brunette gently said. A silver brow raised. He recognized that kind, slightly nervous voice.

"I-I can't help it, Toris!" The short blonde squeaked, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "Mr. I-Ivan got real mad when I r-ripped his favorite suit… y-you know wh-what h-he did…" He cringed, a small hand went to the nape of his neck. Gilbert spotted a long purplish mark scarred the pale skin there. He noticed the back of that hand was graced in small scars and a big one right in the middle and went to his arm but was hidden beneath the long sleeves.

Gilbert wasn't sure what caused them, but they had uncanny resemblance to whip marks. He gulped unconsciously.

"N-now, I lost the gun! Th-the gun of that m-man he brought t-to his room! He gave it t-to m-me for s-safekeeping, b-but now I lost it! I know h-he's g-going to punish m-me!" The blonde cried hoarsely, tears had begun streaming down his paling cheeks. He sobbed furiously, trying to wipe the tears with his sleeves.

Gun? Gilbert's crimson eyes widened. Was he talking about his gun? That wimpy guy lost his freakin' revolver?

He had wanted to go and beat the crap out of that short blondie for losing his dad's precious revolver, but since now he was crying so furiously and pathetically, Gilbert's rage decreased significantly. Though he still felt irritated that now he had no idea where his gun was. He might really have to look for it at every nook and cranny of the mansion.

"It's okay, Raivis. I'll go with you. I'll help you explain it to him." The man named Toris comforted, drawing circles on the blonde's back soothingly.

"B-but Toris… you'll be punished too!" Raivis shook his head, looking up at the older man with trembling eyes.

"It's alright. At least the both of us can each take a half of it." The brunette smiled. "And I must ask if you are fine with it? You're the owner of the gun this child lost after all. "

The brunette suddenly turned his body half-way around and his brown eyes gazed at Gilbert's way as he smiled. Although Gilbert had hid himself and held his breath as not to raise a sound, attempting to act as if he wasn't there where the brunette's eyes was staring. But Toris's voice ruined his attempt. "I know you are there, Mr. Guest. Please, would you be kind and show yourself? I won't tell Mr. Ivan that you're out of your room."

Gilbert quickly realized it was no use hiding when he was already found out. He noticed that Toris man wasn't ordinary, to be able to tell Gilbert's presence so quickly proved it. The German silently sidestepped and revealed himself, meeting the gazes of the calm man and the frightened one of the smaller man, who winced under his piercing red glare.

"Where's my gun?" Gilbert spat out without further ado. "That's mine. Give it back to me." He glared at the blonde.

Raivis twitched furiously before hiding himself behind the taller brunette, clutching at his turquoise sweater.

"Please, Sir. It is not this boy's fault. He simply forgot where he put the revolver. I am sure if we look for it, we will find it soon." Toris calmly reasoned, patting the blonde's head.

"Don't put words to my mouth, boy. I want my gun. Now." Gilbert fiercely but firmly demanded. But the brunette didn't seem fazed.

"I understand, I will help you look for it. Raivis, go and look for this gentleman's revolver in the first floor. Ask Eduard to help you. He will be more than glad to do it." He smiled at the blonde, who nodded rather nervously, stealing unsure glances towards the German before he ran off and disappeared as he turned at a corner.

After Raivis left, Toris approached Gilbert and smiled to him. "Shall we?"

Though uncertain, the German nodded.

As they walked side by side, Gilbert began to feel the strange feeling again. This man Toris. He was being very calm. Too calm. And it was of the odd, unnatural sort. He might posses a kind face like he wouldn't kill a fly, but this man was definitely more than the eyes could see. He had been a criminal for years and had served in military for more than ten years before that, so Gilbert could tell between ordinary people and the not. This man was definitely the latter. He could sense it, like fellow dogs could smell their own kind. Toris had the same scent as he was, the scent of a man who had experienced wars, who had killed fellow humans, who had seen the true ugly face of the world.

Gilbert couldn't helped but to feel curious, as he kept staring at the brunette.

"My name is Toris Lorinaitis." The brunette suddenly said. Gilbert was a bit surprised when he turned to him, chuckling. "You look like you wanted to ask."

"O-oh yeah." Gilbert felt his face heated up, feeling a bit embarrassed that he was caught staring at him. "I'm-" Gilbert stopped. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn't tell his real identity to a complete stranger. Yet strangely, the brunette emitted a feeling around him that had made Gilbert forgot for a moment that he was being held within a foreign place.

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me your name." Toris smiled kindly, nodding understandingly.

"…who are you?"

The brunette had looked surprised at the question, lowering his gaze as they resumed walking along the corridor. But he answered a moment later. "I believe you have noticed it as well, sir." He smiled thinly.

"I can tell that you're no ordinary person either. Well, aside the fact that you showed up a bloody mess when Mr. Ivan brought me to you, but you were already unconscious then, I don't think you remember. But I know you're something else." He turned to the curious German. He chuckled again. "I used to serve in the Lithuanian Military. I was a military doctor, as well as a member of the Armed Forces. Now I'm just a simple doctor. I'm working as a private doctor for the Braginsky family now."

Crimson eyes widened. "A doctor?"

"Yes. I took the bullet out of your right arm and stitched you back. Don't worry, I am a licensed doctor. You'll be perfectly fine if you have plenty of rest, and don't do heavy activities in the mean time. For about a month, I suppose." He told him.

"How long have I slept?" He asked.

"About two days, you had a fever and kept saying your right arm hurt, so I gave you sedative and pain killers. That was why you slept for two days straight. Is it still hurt?"

Gilbert stared at the cast and moved it a bit. "…no. It still hurts, but not as much as before."

"I'm glad." Toris smiled earnestly.

Gilbert went quiet.

"…Gilbert Weillschmidt."

Toris looked confused. "Pardon?"

"My name is Gilbert Weillschmidt."

"Oh… But is that really okay, telling me your name?" He worriedly said, glancing back and forth.

"You saved my life." Gilbert muttered. "That's enough reason to tell you my name. It's just a name anyway, it's nothing biggie."

Toris smiled. "If that is the case, then I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Weillschmidt."

"Right back at you." Gilber said, scratching the back of his head. "But cut the 'Mr.' thing, I get edgy with things like that. Just call me Gilbert."

"Alright, Mr. Weillschmidt."

"…I said call me Gilbert."

"That would be impolite. You're Mr. Ivan's guest, I shouldn't call you so familiarly." Toris reasoned gently.

Gilbert sighed. He knew he deserved respect, but being called 'Mr.' like he was a stranger wasn't exactly the show of respect he wanted. "Okay, okay. Call me whatever you like, sheesh. It's just a damn name…" He grumbled the last statement softly.

After a brief moment of walking the two of them arrived before a large two-leaf door. Gilbert stared up to it, feeling slightly curious. He turned to Toris, who was suddenly quiet and made no attempt at opening the door. He seemed serious as his expression hardened. Somehow the German had a bad feeling. When he was just about to ask, Toris had turned his head to him.

"This is Mr. Ivan's study." He told him.

Gilbert stiffened. Then his eyebrows furrowed. "Why are we here? Aren't we looking for my gun?"

Toris looked oddly nervous, fidgeting slightly. "Truthfully, I saw Mr. Ivan took the gun from Raivis's room just a while ago. Raivis was making a big fuss, so I hadn't have the time to explain to you." He glanced at the door. "I think he has your cellphone too. I've seen it inside his work desk drawer this morning when he summoned me inside."

"So why don't you ask for him to give it back? What's the big deal?"

The brunette turned pale. "We're not permitted to disturb him within his study when we are not ordered to. It is a violation to the rules, and we will be punished for it."

A white eyebrow was raised. "What the fuck? Who the hell does he think he is? He can't just go around forcing rules on people like a dictator, you're his staff! You can demand for your rights! To hell with the Goddamn rul-"

Toris quickly slapped a hand over the German's mouth, brown eyes widened in panic. This was the first time Gilbert saw the composed man flustered like this. "Please don't raise your voice-you might disturb him! You do not understand, Mr. Weillschmidt. Mr. Ivan is the law within this house. He owns us. You do not understand. There are reasons as to why we cannot defy him, it does not have anything to do with our rights as his employees. Please don't make him angry. He is kind enough that he saved you, please remember that. Don't make him angry, please. It brings nothing good for us if he is angered. Please promise to me."

Gilbert stared at the Lithuanian, wide-eyed. He had never heard people begging him to this point, aside his victims who begged for their lives to be spared before he shot them in the head. Toris's face was twisted in worry and nervousness, mostly dominated by the fear within those brown orbs. They reminded him of the wimpy blonde he saw earlier. They had the same look now. Fear. Fright. Horror. He only had a brief meeting with this Ivan, but that short moment was enough for him to know that man was dangerous. All his senses went alert before him. There was something beneath those cheerful but hollow smiles, hidden deep within those cold amethyst eyes. He didn't know what, but his instincts screamed 'danger'.

After Toris withdrew his hand, Gilbert was silent for a few seconds, before he nodded. "Okay. I promise."

Toris smiled in relief as he placed his hands over his heart.

Before his hand grab the doorknob, Gilbert was unsure. He had wanted to just leave the estate without even a second look, much less he wanted to meet with that Russian man again. But both of his cherished gun and cellphone was within the man's possession. He needed them back, and the feeling was stronger than his unwillingness to meeting with him again.

He took a deep breath in, before he turned the knob and entered the room.

"Oy polnym polna moya korobushka,"

As soon as he entered the room, he heard a hummed music came from the tall blonde who was sitting on a comfortable-looking chair across a big work desk. A silver eyebrow was raised when Gilbert took a rather unexpected sight of the Russian, who was polishing a bunch of dolls of different sizes with a clean white rag. His eyes were closed as he sang something in a language he couldn't decipher - probably Russian, humming an unfamiliar melody to the German's ears.

"Oy polnym polna moya korobushka - oh my crate is so full"

"Yest' i sitets i parcha. Pozhaley, dusha-zaznobushka, Molodetskogo plecha - I've got chintz and brocade. Take pity, oh sweetie, of this lad's shoulder."

"Vyydu, vyddu v rozh' vysokuyu, Tam do nochki pogozhu, Kak zavizhu chernookuyu, Vse ovary razlozhu - I will, I will go out into the tall rye, I will wait there till the night comes, once I see the dark-eyed lass, I will showcase all my goods"

He continued singing, seemingly unaware of Gilbert's presence.

"Tseny sam platil nemalyye, Ne torguysya, ne skupis', Podstavlyay-ka gubki alyye, Blizhe k molodtsu sadis' - I paid no small price myself, so don't bargain or be stingy, Bring your scarlet lips to me, sit closer to this fine lad"

As he sang, he opened his eyes and looked straight towards the stiffening Gilbert. He smiled, putting the biggest doll on the right most row of the other dolls that they look like a row of stair, identical dolls lined up from the smallest to the biggest, or the vice versa. Ivan signaled Gilbert to approach him. The German had cringed in blatant unwillingness, and it must show on his face, but the Russian didn't seem to care as he moved his fingers again, telling him to come closer.

But he promised Toris he wouldn't do anything to make the Russian angry. Gritting his teeth, he complied to the gesture.

"Vot uzh pala noch' tumannaya, Zhdyot udalyy molodets. Chu, idyot! prishla zhelannaya, Prodayot tovar kupets - The foggy night has already come, the darling lad is awaiting. Hark, it's her! The desired one has come, the merchant is selling his goods"

As soon as Gilbert had been close enough, Ivan grabbed onto his cast and yanked hard that the German let out a scream of agony, his entire body and knees shook and weakened at the burning pain as he let his body fell to the direction Ivan pulled him to, unaware that he had fallen into the Russian's big arms. Ivan smiled as he adjusted the German that now he was sitting on his lap, his back pressed against the bigger man's chest, a pair of big arms wrapping around the smaller waist as he nuzzled against the silver strands.

Gilbert was still trying so hard to hold in the screams that tore its way out of his throat, but failing to do so as he panted, letting out little pained whines as tears gathering in the corners of his closed eyes. Fuck, he could feel his wound reopening! He could feel the warm blood once again flow out of the already stitched hole. And fuck, that hurt so badly, he just wanted to scream as loud as he could, as much as he wanted. But he couldn't. He couldn't. He had his foolish pride to uphold, he didn't want to look pathetic and weak. He was a man. He had to take the pain like a man.

"Katya berezhno torguyetsya Vsyo boitsya peredat', Paren' s devitsey tseluyetsya, Prosit tseny nabavlyat' - Katya is haggling with care, she is afraid to pay too much, a lad is kissing his lass, asking her to raise the price"

Ivan kissed the nape of Gilbert's neck as he rubbed soothing circles on his stomach, singing softly into his ear.

"Znayet tol'ko noch' glubokaya, Kak poladili oni. Raspryamis' ty, rozh' vysokaya, Taynu Svyato sokhrani! - Only the deep night knows, What they agreed upon. Straighten up now, oh tall rye, and keep their secret scrupulously!"

Gilbert panted heavily, his hazy mind became clearer as the pain dulled away as seconds went. But the pain was still there, and the blood still flowed out freely, staining the white cast red on a particular spot. He felt cold sweat running down his temples, white strands stuck to his face. The Russian was still singing cheerfully, guiltlessly. If only Gilbert was not in so much pain and his right arm wasn't injured, he'd hit the man so hard his jaw would dislocate.

"Little Russian shit," He panted out, glaring at the blonde, who stopped singing at the statement. "Give me back my damn gun and cell."

Ivan tilted his head, before smiling. "Oh? That old gun? I might have thrown it away, since it is so old, yes?"

"What!" Gilbert choked out, thrashing frantically within Ivan's hold, but to no avail, his weak body couldn't overpower the much bigger man. Rage had dulled his senses and mind that he no longer cared for the pain or the blood. That revolver wasn't just some gun he could buy at a random black market, it was a memory given by his deceased father!

"What the fuck are you saying? Where is it? Where the fuck did you throw it? Tell me! Tell me or I'll fucking kill you!" He screamed in wrath, glaring holes into the Russian's head.

The Russian chuckled, nuzzling against Gilbert's back. "I said I 'might have' thrown it away. It does not mean I 'have' thrown it away, yes?"

Gilbert felt blood rushed into his head. "This not some kind of a joke! Give me back my gun!" He spat out fiercely, panting slightly afterwards.

"I will give it to you, alright." Ivan smiled. One that made Gilbert suddenly stopped thrashing around, a chill ran down his spines. Those icy reddish purple eyes shone in a strange glint, as if he was hiding bad intentions just like a child, and about to spill it all out.

"You will agree to the terms of condition I will give you. You can't refuse. You have no choice but to accept, since I know all about you, Little Weillschmidt. You can try to run, but I will see to it that you can't hide from me, no matter where you go. I will capture you again, I will have you in my arms, just like this." He tightened his grip so painfully tight, it was hard for Gilbert to breathe. They were all statements. Not questions. Ivan wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You will become an employee of mine, Little Weillschmidt. You will fill the job vacancy, you will replace Elizaveta as my housekeeper. You will work for me." He smiled, taking out a white cellphone from his pocket, Gilbert's cell. "I have talked to your clients, Little Weillschmidt. Now you're free from them! You can work as my employee with ease."

"Stop joking around, you Russian son of a-"

"…or do you wish to see your cherished heirloom melted to a deformed state? Your deceased father will be most sad, don't you think?"

Gilbert suddenly went quiet. His revolver. He couldn't lose it. He couldn't afford to. Beside the fact it was an heirloom, that revolver was also the only family bond he had left in this world. If he lost it, he wouldn't be able to find the other pair… "Fuck." He muttered, cursing under his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

He knew he would regret it later.

TBC

Korobeyniki - a famous Russian folk song, you can check it out on YouTube or Wikipedia. It is supposedly a cheerful song, but Russia just had to do that… poor Gil.

A/N: So, through manipulation and black-mailing, Gilbert is forced to be a housemaid… I mean, housekeeper. Err, this is the only plot I can think of, since I don't think Gilbert would want to be a housekeeper under normal circumstances (I mean, he's a proud guy, thinking he's too awesome for that), and Ivan… is according to plan, is being Ivan. :9 …I said this story is not for the faints of heart, when I don't even have the guts to write extreme abusive scene… I'm fine reading/watching it, but why can't I write it? ;A;

Reviews encouraged me to write the updates faster! XD (like seriously, they made me super-happy and writey, like that's even a word, loll)