Protégé

Summary: France, 1765. A slowly developing town just outside of Paris, also known as Le Amour. A mysterious, traveling entrepreneur and games master stays the night in a house of pleasure, not expecting to find a new object of affection. A new protégé is taken under his wing and securely placed there, never to be removed. Homosexuality is a central premise of the story.

Gray bathed the countryside in a vast sea of mist, sight hindered and roads covered in mud. The whiney of a black horse echoed through the thick evening, the creaking of a carriage coming to a labored stop.

The coachman stepped down from his bench, placing his whip on the seat as he readied himself accordingly. With a master the likes of which he had been so lovingly blessed with, it was always in one's best interest to look in the best possible state, even if he was drenched to his stockings and bitter with the cold.

Madame Resell starred out of the only window in her hotel, watching with eager eyes as the expensive ensemble stopped directly in front of her door. Surely this man would bring in a good profit for the evening, his coach bedecked in gold and leather. Even though her girls were in high demand with her regular guests, they couldn't always afford the best room available. Surely this man would.

The coachman opened the door with purpose, standing respectfully off to the side as a lithe figure exited the dark space.

He wasn't as tall as most French-men, but he was well built, muscles visible even under his leather-skin trench that he donned, dyed a deep, forbidding black. His face could not be seen, hidden in the shadow of his hood.

He said nothing to the man holding his door open for him as he stepped up to the entrance of her hotel, nor did he wait for it to open for him, instead choosing to step right on through.

Madame Resell stood tall at his entrance, ready to please him in any way necessary. Any way to gain a chance to dive into his pockets for whatever he might have about him.

"Welcome, Monsieur. We are pleased to have you here," she greeted kindly.

A dusky hand removed his hood in one swipe, revealing a face that was kissed by an autumn sun. A sculpted frame and hard-placed eyes set an air of dominance about his aura. Moister glinted on his honeyed cheeks. He didn't look French in the least. A foreigner? Perhaps she would get more out of him tonight than she originally thought.

Burning red eyes starred at her intensely, an almost alien intelligence swirling about their blood-covered depths.

"A room for the night," he replied, no emotions in his deep-dark voice.

"Oui," she replied, a disgruntling feeling settling over her skin as he continued to stare at her, feeling as if her height was slowly falling further towards the ground. "Follow me," she replied.

Her girls were sprawled about lazily, waiting for a guest to choose their jouet for the night.

She turned around briefly, wondering if his eyes were wondering.

Her heart lodged in her chest when she noticed his steely gaze locked on her own.

She shivered. It was not like he was looking at her with lust, a hunger that night after night with many lovers could not quench. No, this look was...cold. Cold, aloof, and…she couldn't help but shiver again, feeling icicles penetrate her spine. He did not seem very…happy. Jubilant and vibrant was the usual mood of men coming her way, looking for comfort. He held no such qualities. The thought of a demon briefly flashed through her mind, and she suddenly felt terrible for the girl that would be stuck with him tonight.

…Would he even want one? He paid the others no particular interest. Why come here?

She hurried up the stairs, the stranger in her midst keeping easy pace with her. There were only four suites on the upper level, reserved for only the best of customers to come here. And the most expensive.

She stopped before his room, barely able to face him. "Name, Monsieur?"

"Fonce Tenebres," he replied, dropping a velvet pouch of royal purple into her hands. "I wish for no disturbances tonight."

"Oui, Monsieur." The small bag jangled happily, pregnant with a generous amount of gold coins.

He looked up as she stepped out of the way, a voice drifting down the hallway growing louder as it grew closer. "Aucun! Aucun! Leave me alone!"

"Now be good, mio petite. Come with me!" A young woman of about eighteen was struggling to pull along a young boy who was quite short for his age, golden bangs and obsidian and ruby hair going astray. "I do not want to go!" His accent was not that of the average French child, but sounded hard-placed, struggling to get the pronunciation correct.

Madame Resell had not wanted this boy to show his dirtied face tonight, no doubt about to cause annoyance with the guests that were already staying at her hotel that night.

"He is not French," Fonce Tenebres stated, looking at the boy intensely as he headed their way.

"A foreigner, Monsieur Tenebres. Orphaned and taken in here by the kind heart of my daughter, Alice." She cursed silently to herself, wishing that Alice had not thought of the women that might like a stay at their hotel, attempting to recruit this boy to bring in more revenue.

"What is his name," Fonce asked.

"Yuugi," she pronounced, not liking the feel of the foreign language upon her tongue.

"Age," he pressed further.

"Seventeen, from what my daughter has been able to get out of him. Forgive me, Monsieur, he will be removed immediately if he has caused any annoyance for you." She turned to Alice as the two came their way. "Take him down to the basement, hurry with you! Out of my hair with him!"

"But, mama," Alice protested.

"No," Fonce spoke up. Madame Resell looked up at him in confusion, seeing a strange look flitter across those hard bloodied eyes. "I would prefer his company tonight. Leave him with me."

Madame Resell shivered again. She had to get away from him. "Of course." She turned to the young boy looking up at her in confusion. "Go with him!," she hissed, stepping aside and pushing him closer to her guest. He uttered no words as his violet orbs clouded over in numb, dumbfounded thoughts, following Fonce into the master suite.

The door snapped closed, and Alice looked back at her mother, her eyes clearly stating their shock. "Do you suppose," she whispered.

Her mother shook her head. "I pray not. Profit or none, I would prefer to have him gone by morning."

Alice nodded her head, but looked back at her mother just the same. "But…if you do suppose that's the sort of thing he fancies… perhaps…?"

"No!" Madame Resell hissed, stopping herself quickly. Maybe? Perhaps that would be the reason business had not been so good lately? Wrong…selection?

No. Ridiculous. Absurd. The very thought was of no relevance.

Or was it?

~ * ~

Yuugi looked on horrified as he starred at the man before him. Alice had been trying to pull him down to meet the other women that worked at the hotel, trying get him to become more warm to the thought of giving up his body every night for money. An idea he wanted to have no part of. He didn't want to be here. Not one bit.

The man was picking up a robe that was hanging on a hook, then began to walk quickly over to the bed, flinging it over the center.

"Out!" He roared, and Yuugi realized that there was a naked figure sprawled out across the luxurious red velvet comforter.

The blonde looked at Fonce, a deep sense of violation spreading across her delicate features as she wrapped the robe around herself, fleeing the room without an uttered word.

He swallowed hard. What could this man want with him tonight? Why did he even have to be here?

"Who are you," Yuugi asked, desperate for an answer.

"Monsieur Fonce Kurayami." He poured himself a glass of wine, turning his head slightly with a faint smirk. "But just Yami will do."

Yuugi's eyes grew wide. "You know my native tongue? Can you speak it?"

Fonce took a sip of the Chablis wine, looking thoughtful as he walked over to the bed. "I know many languages, mon cocotte. And I can speak them with ease."

"Motte-iku watashi okatei!" Yuugi declared before he could stop himself. "Yorokobaseru," he added feebly.

"Iie," Fonce replied, shaking his head slightly. "Your home is no more. Orphaned, was what Madame Resell had said?"

"That doesn't mean this is where I belong," Yuugi stated firmly.

"And what would you do once you stepped back ashore of your beloved island, mon cocotte? Where would you live?"

"I," he started, his defense suddenly losing life upon his lips. "I don't know," he muttered miserably. "But I can't stay here."

"Aucun, you can not."

He looked up, confused. "Then where will I go?"

Fonce set the glass down on a bedside table, walking up to Yuugi with a feline grace. Exact, regal, deadly.

Yuugi sucked in a frightened breath when Fonce began to unbutton his shirt, dusky fingers moving faster than he could stop them.

He was petrified when a hot breath caresses his face, the smell not of alcohol and rotting food, but spicy, warm…sun-kissed shadows.

An electric touched grazed his delicate white skin when the garment was removed.

Fonce stood upright, looking at the faded white material with disdain. "mAr," he snarled, looking at the mud stains splattered across its surface. "You need something much cleaner than this." He tossed the offending thing into the waste basket.

Yuugi heaved in a rattled breath, mind numb with too many thoughts and questions. Why had the man removed his shirt?

"Where will I go?" He asked again.

Fonce sat at the edge of the bed and began to unlace his shoes. "The bed for starters. You need a good night's rest."

Yuugi creeped warily closer to the bedside, easing on it slowly only when Fonce had stood and placed his tall boots in a corner of the room.

"And after that," he ventured.

"Nagaku aruku to issho ni mayanoka mi-shiranu hito," the sensual voice caressed his senses, and Yuugi felt himself momentarily falling into a blissful haze.

Burning eyes bored down upon him, and Yuugi was suddenly very aware. "You can't have me," he stated firmly, eyes narrowing in warning.

A rich, full laughter bubbled past sun-kissed lips. "No?"

Yuugi fell further into the bed as Fonce drew closer, swirling eyes gazing at him with unhindered lust.

So close their faces had become…why did this Yami keep coming closer? The young teenager's eyes were wide when those smooth lips fell upon his own, unable to come up with a reason for not fighting him off.

A hot tongue found its way into his mouth, and he was suddenly bombarded with a taste that he could never have dreamed of. Gold-spun silks and midnight dew. Sweet desert nights and blood and sweat and honeyed spices…

Gods but did the term seem so fitting. Sun-kissed shadows. How else to describe it?

He barely registered his hands making contact with warm flesh beneath a cotton shirt, his moans becoming lost inside of this stranger's addicting kiss.

Far too soon it ended, Fonce stopping just inches above his lips, looking at him through half lidded eyes. "Hmm."

It was all Fonce had to say.

Yuugi noticed that his arms were wrapped around Fonce's chest, his shirt entirely undone.

The strange man stood and removed his shirt completely, his back now turned to Yuugi.

How had he done that? How had Yuugi not even been aware of what he was doing? Witchcraft? Consort of the devil? "You still can't have me," Yuugi rasped out, a sudden fear gripping onto his heart.

"My shirt would tend to disagree with you, mon amour. Saved me the bother of troubling with those pesky buttons. I just might keep you around after all." His aforementioned garment fell to the floor.

"Devil," Yuugi hissed, wrapping the covers around him tightly. "Keep your distance from a child of God."

He looked on terror stricken when Fonce let out a hearty laugh. "Mio petite, you may have been born in Japan, but you have spent your whole life here, haven't you?"

How could he have known?

Yami turned to him and grinned. "So tell me, amour, where did you learn Japanese? Who taught you?"

"I…" he stopped short, his wonderful defense falling to the ashes yet again. " Grand Pere. He wanted me to learn."

"Mon pauvre precieux bien-aime," Fonce chided. "What a sheltered life you have led. A stranger in both lands."

"Why?" Yuugi asked. "Why would I be a stranger in both lands?"

Fonce looked at him pointedly. "Who in your family is French, amour?"

Yuugi frowned, thinking back upon his past. "Pere."

Fonce nodded. His father. Walking up close to Yuugi again, he allowed his hand to leave a lingering caress across the young boy's face as he spoke. "Because, mon cocotte, the people of your native land are not Christians, they are Buddhist. Mention anything to do with your beloved Yahweh and they will permanently deem you as an outsider, laughing in your face all the while."

Those deep purple eyes of Yuugi's, so very rare of an eye color at that, watered to the point of tears. It couldn't be. Shunned in the one place he thought he belonged? "Grand Pere wanted me to learn Japanese first, and French after words. It is why pronunciation is so difficult for me. I don't want to be alone in a land that does not feel like home."

Fonce rubbed his nose against Yuugi's, still cupping his alabaster cheek. "No, jouisseur allumons, you will not be alone."

Yuugi shook his head. "Stop with the pet names! It is not right! It is sin! Father Augustus should whip me right now! You bring the devil to my doorstep!"

Fonce laughed again, deeply within his throat, and gave Yuugi another kiss, soft and sweet and lingering perhaps just a little too long. "Mon cocotte, the Christians condemn one for even breathing. Humans are already wallowing in sin. There is nothing left to do but embrace it. Why do you listen to a god that contradicts his own teachings?"

Yuugi looked up confused. "What do you mean?"

Fonce smiled briefly. "Jealousy is a sin, is it not, bien-aime?"

Yuugi nodded his head slowly.

"And yet the first thing you are told is that your god is a jealous god. A vengeful god when he does not get what he wants from his children. You have a Father, yes. But where is your Mother? Where is the one that was around you since conception of your soul? Where is the balance?"

Yuugi looked up at Fonce, a new curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Do you believe in God?"

Fonce frowned hard. "Not in the same context in which you believe in him."

Yuugi's brow furrowed at the cryptic reply.

"What you are doing to me is evil. Beelzebub and Satin alike must have control of your body."

Again, Fonce laughed. "Do you know where the term came from for Satin? Do you know the root of his name?"

"Surely it must be Latin," Yuugi ventured.

"Indeed, amour. It is Latin, the root word being Saishin. Meaning to illuminate. Much like Lucifer and lucidity. A creation of the church to turn people against the Illuminati, the devout believers in science. Galileo was one of them, did you know this?"

Yuugi shook his head.

"I do not believe in evil, mon petite. Perhaps I should teach you about Hippocraties. The four humors might give you a different perspective on life."

Yuugi's mind was reeling with what he was hearing. Everything this man said tonight contradicted everything he had ever been taught.

"And besides, mon cocotte, if woman is the original sinner, why spend an evening with her?"

Yuugi became lost in another kiss as Fonce lowered himself on top of him. Arms wrapping around that lithe body tightly again, and had he been remotely coherent he would swear to have heard a purr being emitted from deep within Yami's throat. The weight that settled in between his legs felt so right, and he found himself wrapped even tighter around the desert anomaly on top of him.

Fonce broke away from the kiss briefly, and Yuugi suddenly found his lips aching to again taste the sensual mouth but inches away from his own. Without thinking, he pushed himself forward, almost swallowing the foreign tongue. If there was anything to become addicted to, this would be it.

The rest of the night faded away for him as a blazing heat settled around him, all other memory lost as if consumed by the wine that lay forgotten on the bedside table.

~ * ~

Madame Resell watched curiously as Sophia came down the stairs looking highly disgruntled. "He told me to leave!" she said befuddled. "What in God's name is he doing here if he doesn't want me in his room?"

Madame Resell began to think again, What would he be doing here? Had he fancied that Yuugi after all?

"I'll be right back," she stated, hurrying herself up the staircase.

There were muffled sounds coming from the closed door. Curious.

Easing the door open just slightly, she was grateful that she always made sure they were well oiled on the hinges.

Her eyes grew very wide when she saw two bodies pressed together on the bed, two pairs of hands roaming in rather forbidden places.

If he fancied this boy, maybe…perhaps…Yuugi should stay after all?

Yes…he should stay after all. He could bring in a lot of revenue.

Madame Resell made a mental note to listen to her daughter's ideas more carefully next time.

Yes…next time indeed.

~ * ~

Oh…I like this story. It's very fun to write. To anyone who is a devout Christian/Catholic/Lutheran/exc. Please to do not be offended. These are only my own personal views on religion, and it is in no way a bash against you. I happen to have many friends who are dedicated church-goers, and have been friends with them for a long time. We have agreed to disagree. Simple as that. It is only meant for enjoyment, and from what I have gathered in my own readings and research on the subject. (in case you're wondering, I do believe in God and Jesus…just…on a slightly different level. Yami will explain it to you later.

Translations!

French Monsieur: Sir

French Oui: Yes

French Jouet: Toy

French Fonce: Dark

French Tenebres: Darkness

French Aucun: No

French Mio petite: (My)Little one

Japanese Kurayami: Darkness

French Chablis: A French white wine

Japanese Motte-iku watashi okatei: Take me home!

Japanese Yorokobaseru: Please

Japanese Iie: No

French Mon Cocotte: My pet

Ancient Egyptian mAr: Wretched

Japanese Nagaku aruku to issho ni mayanoka mi-shiranu hito: Long walks with midnight strangers

French Mon Amour: My love

French Grand Pere: Grandfather

French Amour: Love

French Mon: My

French Mon pauvre precieux bien-aime: My poor precious beloved

French Pere: Father

French Jouisseu allumons: sensual light

French Bien aime: Beloved

*wipes forehead* Wow! That was a lot! Hope you enjoyed! –Yes, all of the translations are real.