The Enchantress had stated that, by the time that the last rose petal fell on his twenty-first birthday, the Prince needed to fall in love with someone and earn that person's love in return.

And with the rose already well awilt, the servants were ready to try anything.

The Enchantress never exactly said that it had to be a female person.

The Beast watched with an initial curiosity, which then became a sinking dismay as Lumiere and Cogsworth led a rotund, elderly man into the upstairs den.

Cogsworth seemed to be resisting the plan, bless him. The castle's steward knew that the master would not be enthused by this offering.

"No, no, no! You know what the master will do if he finds him here!" he cried at Lumiere, racing behind him.

Indeed the Beast knew, sadly, what was expected of him.

Whore himself out to whatever walked through that door. It was the only chance of ending the curse.

He shuddered. A man. An old man.

But what other option was there?

It would have to do.

The Beast took his time moving towards the den. He could hear his servants entertaining the prospective paramour, laughing, introducing themselves.

His skin crawled as he tried to imagine romantic kisses or loving embraces with that horrible old man, his withered skin, his bald head, fat belly…

But maybe… just maybe it would be like the Enchantress, where she'd only appeared old and ugly but was really young and beautiful?

Then he'd be faced with… a young beautiful man.

It really wasn't much better.

The image inspired nothing but revulsion.

But he couldn't be picky. He was a Beast. Clearly, he was no prize himself.

He had to make this work.

This disgusting, humiliating task.

That he didn't want to do.

He could feel tears stinging at his eyes as he resentfully kicked open the door of the den. Ugh! That horrible Enchantress! She just thought it was so funny to play a little prank, showing up dressed like an old hag, then revealing her beautiful self when he hadn't treated her like a beautiful person deserves! He was just a kid then — and even now —

Oh, God, this old man was probably going to want him for the butt-boy, wasn't he?

Cup-bearer to old Zeus here.

Beast hated this guy already. But there was no choice.

The sudden change in air pressure had put out the flames in the room. The once cozy little space was now dark and ominous. The only light was that which came through the door. Beast could see his shadow rising over the scene, and he quickly lowered himself to the floor in hopes he might look less intimidating. To crawl on all fours was very natural to him, suiting his monstrous anatomy better than walking on two legs.

Better not to let the old man know what was up. He'd probably be every bit as offended as Beast was.

"Grrr, there's a stranger here," said Beast through his teeth, trying to seem casual.

He did not have a poker face and he was not succeeding at hiding his absolute outrage.

Poor Lumiere, who had introduced the old man to the castle for exactly what purpose the Beast had discerned, could already see this scheme was going badly.

"Master, allow me to explain," stammered Lumiere, improvising like an Italian actor. "The gentleman was lost in the woods — "

The Beast made a noise that, when he was human, would have been a petulant whine. Now it was a thundering roar, so forceful it nearly knocked the candelabrum back. Beast knew perfectly well what the old man was there for, and what he should do; and every bit of it sickened him.

He would do it. He wanted out of this damned curse as bad as anyone. They didn't need to stop him.

Cogsworth began sputtering out further excuses and Beast's exasperated groan again bellowed forth in a horrifying roar that cut the protest short.

He would do it.

Resentfully, he climbed over the side of the armchair to get a better look at his destined lover-to-be.

Fucking gross.

Wasn't just an old man. Even in the dark he could see the geezer's nose was pouring snot all over the place. His mustache was glistening with the stuff.

Beast tried to keep his eyes locked on those of the old man, so he wouldn't have to observe it.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" asked Beast, staring very intently into the man's pinpoint pupils. This was about as conversational as he'd had to be in the past ten years. He really had no idea how belligerent his tone sounded to everyone else.

The old man leapt from the chair. Beast automatically pursued him.

The frightened old man attempted to explain himself. "I — I was lost in the woods and… and…"

The Beast began a reply. "You're not welcome here — " He had intended to say more, but he actually began to gag at the sudden idea of trying to kiss the man with his mucus-matted mustache. He fought to keep his eyes on the man's pupils. Not look at the mustache.

The old man stammered an apology.

Beast tried to clear the snot-soaked image from his brain but it was not working. He really thought he might throw up now. Just fucking puke five gallons of cream soup, escargot, and cervelles de boeuf au beurre noir, plus assorted sorbets. That would definitely not be a good start to this… romance.

He had to put a pin in this. Wait till he could recover himself.

"What are you staring at?" demanded the Beast suddenly.

Maurice had no idea what to say in reply.

"So, you've come to stare at The Beast, have you?"

This was all the excuse Beast needed to be able to grab the old geezer and shove him into a cell in the prison tower till later.

"Well, you kept him from running away. I'll give you that," said Mrs. Potts in a mildly scolding tone. "But surely the man isn't going to be too pleased about it," she added.

The old man had been in the tower for almost a whole day already, and there was no more time to waste.

The Beast sat on the floor of the fire-lit den, surrounded by his servants, who watched expectantly his every move. Right now, he was wretched. He really, in his heart, did not want to go through with this.

But he knew he had to. He had to. Not just for the whole household, who were counting on him, but also for his own sake. He would never be happy again if he couldn't be human, and time to break the spell was in short supply.

"I just need some time to prepare," seethed Beast, his anguish and anger plain as always.

"If you hadn't come barging into the room," said Mrs. Potts, "We could have introduced you in a — "

Another fearsome roar from the Beast shut her up.

"Master," said Lumiere, hoping to appease the plainly stressed-out Beast, "I know this is an… unfamiliar situation for you. But this is your chance to break the spell!"

"Don't you think I know that?" snapped Beast glumly.

"Bien! Then we're all on the same page. We just need to…" Lumiere paused again, as if searching for an appropriate term. "…to get you into the right frame of mind."

Cogsworth, who tended to adhere to the Beast's wishes and viewpoints more than the other servants, spoke for the first time since the master had returned from the tower. "I'm sure it will be a new experience for you, but you can push through!" The tone was almost pleading. "Just think, once we're human again — once you're human again — to be paired up with a charming older man such as that will seem a delight. You'll wonder how you could have ever shunned his embrace."

"He really does seem to have a gentle temper," added Mrs. Potts, encouragingly. "You'd match well with someone like that."

Beast groaned: a thunderlike rumbling.

"How about I bring up some nice sherry?" suggested Lumiere. "It will help you to relax. Then, you can go back up and say bonsoir to the man."

Within a few minutes Lumiere had gone downstairs and returned alongside a sentient bowl, now filled with sherry. Beast couldn't drink from cups, the miniature dishes sliding too easily from his massive paws as he would cram them into his muzzle. He was obliged to drink from bowls, doglike.

Beast tasted the sherry and thought the flavor was a little odd. "It tastes like medicine," he said, frowning. "Must be spoiled."

Lumiere laughed uncomfortably. He'd banked that the master's palate wasn't sensitive enough to notice that he'd doctored the beverage. "It is fortified."

"Fortified?"

"Just a tiny, minuscule, modicum of — " he suddenly spoke very rapidly and lowered his voice, like he hoped to conceal the words. "Tinctureofcantharides."

Beast's eyes widened and he dropped the bowl, which scurried away, spilling its contents. He was appalled. "Tincture of cantharides? You gave me Spanish Fly?!"

"I was only trying to help!" replied Lumiere, his tone sincere.

Beast spat and began wiping at his tongue with his paws.

The servants were giving him sex drugs now. Secretly. He wavered between horror and outrage at the discovery.

"Lumiere! Really!" scolded Mrs. Potts, hopping towards the brass-bodied butler. "You know that muck doesn't even work for that. It just makes you ill."

Hearing that, Beast roared — as much in despair as anger. Now he could look forward to feeling even more sickly at the sight of the old man.

"Enough of this!" bellowed Beast, rising to his full height. "Get out! All of you!"

"But, sir, please — " began Cogsworth.

"GET OUT!" repeated Beast, ripping a painting from the wall and smashing the frame against the fireplace for emphasis.

It was largely just an instinct he possessed, to smash things when angry. But it also had the benefit of offering a vague threat to the servants, like if his temper rose any higher he might not take care to only destroy inanimate furnishings.

The threat worked. The servants scurried away.

Alone, Beast panted for breath, his anger overwhelming. Then, all at once, it dropped into an impossible sadness. Thoughts too painful to permit anything more, he covered his eyes and winced. From behind his lids, he could feel a sob rising, struggling to make itself known…

He wasn't going to cry out here. Falling to all fours, he bounded from the den towards the West Wing — his trashed out bedroom, filled with so much broken furniture, debris and solitude. There, he could work out these loathsome emotions in privacy.

He barely got the door shut behind him before the tears came spilling. Obscured by his fur, a person observing him would have seen only a monster who roared and growled in apparent rage.

But that vicious, stormy cacophony was the sound of him bawling his eyes out.

And it would remain so if he didn't get his shit together and make that old man fall in love with him.

Brass arms on his wooden hips, Cogsworth reprimanded the castle's butler. "Drugging him! Really! Did you really believe something like that was appropriate?"

"Well, not everyone has to flee from England for being that way," said Lumiere in reply, flame-tipped arms folded across his body defensively. There was not malice in his answer, just statement of fact.

Cogsworth rolled his eyes at the allusion to his backstory. "Indeed, and the master would be one of them. And you already knew that about him! You know you can't just give somebody Spanish Fly and turn them homosexual! You should have just left him alone!" His tone took on a pleading, begging quality. "Lumiere, I know we want to end this curse, but this will never work! But no," anger, sternness returned. "No. Now we've gone and dragged that poor old man into it. Couldn't keep quiet, could we? Just had to invite him to stay, didn't we? Serve heem tea! Sit in zee master's chair! Pet zee pooch!"

"I was trying to be hospitable!"

Cogsworth's reply was hindered by a strange noise in the castle.

A strange voice.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" it cried. "Hello? Papa? Papa, are you here?"

Beast laid curled up on the floor of the West Wing, mopping his tear-soaked fur with his cape.

He'd been made this way for not being open minded about how people looked.

Maybe this was exactly what he was supposed to do — the lesson he was being taught.

Love. He had to learn to love. It wasn't a sex thing. Love. Love without concern for appearances. Love without caring about things like gender.

Though he'd only swallowed a single mouthful of the drugged sherry, it had upset his stomach. It was one more knock against finding him in a good frame of mind for romance. It made him cranky and distracted.

But he looked at the wilting rose by the window, and with horror he watched one more petal fall to the tabletop below.

There was no time to lose.

He took a deep breath. Collected himself. He was master of this castle — a great prince — he could do it. He could be charming and amiable and lovable.

Gritting his fangs, he rose. He could do this. He could love a stranger. He'd find a way to make it happen.

Force himself.

He made his way across the gloomy castle, its dark halls and passages full of monstrous sculptures.

Approaching the entrance of the tower, he was concerned by the discovery that the door was ajar and Cogsworth was standing by. It looked as if something was going on, and like Cogsworth was afraid to venture inside.

"What are you doing here?" asked Beast of his servant.

Cogsworth made a shushing motion. "There's something up in the tower you should see," he whispered.

Alarmed, the Beast raced up the stairs in a single, swooping motion. He burst noiselessly into the tower.

And what he found up there was a girl.

An attractive girl.

Thank God.

END.