Part Six
The immovable... the very nearly unbeatable, Sir Robert Jurgens had exposed a weakness nearly two years ago. After so long, watching and waiting for an opportunity to exploit that weakness, it almost seemed like he was imagining it...
At last, Robert had dropped his guard.
"You certainly bleed a lot, don't you?"
Michael jumped at the unexpected company. He had no phone or money on him; he was at a strange palace he couldn't pronounce the name of, and he had no idea how to get back to Jurgens Castle on his own. He was captive until Robert was allowed to leave, or the party ended - neither of which could come quick enough.
He wanted to hide. He wanted to be alone. He wanted things to go back to the way they were... when he didn't know just how worthless he was in the eyes of Robert's family.
"Are you here to tell me off, like everyone else?" He muttered, flexing his fingers, and crying out as they protested the move.
"I can see what enchants Robert so... this handsome boy who bleeds so nicely." The shadows gave way to form, as the cloaked presence emerged, pale and dark all at once. "Let me look at your hand."
With a skewed smirk, he offered his own clawed hand out to the American.
"It would be... unfortunate if you were hurt. I am sure it would cause Robert a great deal of distress."
"Yeah, right." Michael sulked. If he was that repulsive, what did the nobleman even see in him?
His company was silent, staring at him with wide eyes. He had a very similar appearance to Robert; his features sharp and angular, and his cropped auburn hair slicked back in much the same style. But he lacked the presence... he did not radiate the same confidence.
He was familiar, but not just because he physically resembled Robert.
"Wait... I know you. You're a blader!"
Michael remembered seeing him and his team at the edge of the crowd at the World Championships. Almost everyone in the Beyblading scene favoured bright colours, so a team of goths (as Steven had inarticulately put it) really stood out, despite them keeping quiet and to themselves.
"Yes, I am." The stranger smiled, his long fangs teasing his bottom lip; his eyes never leaving the expanding cloud of red on Michael's cuff.
"We should definitely battle sometime."
"I would like that. I hear you have a very impressive Bit Beast."
Perhaps the night wouldn't be completely full of nasty snobs after all? It was the first time Michael had smiled since arriving at the palace.
"Oh, yeah. Trygle is awesome!"
"I am pleased."
The mystery blader had a genteel way of speaking, but he was dressed in a shabby robe. Was he part of the nobility, or one of their servants?
"Are you a friend of Robert's?" Michael asked.
"No, I am something quite different." The stranger gave a thoughtful sigh. "Our Robert is not good at making friends."
The American laughed at the understatement. "I know, right?"
He hadn't met any of his lover's friends before. He was beginning to doubt that he had any outside of the Majestics.
"Please, let me look at your hand." It was not concern in the stranger's voice; it was desperation, as he moved closer to his victim.
"I shouldn't have let them get to me..." The boy held his hand out, just happy for the positive attention. "I'm in so much trouble."
You have no idea.
His uncle had returned to the festivities; Robert could see him mingling with the guests, laughing at jokes that weren't funny, and playing the gracious host... but Michael was nowhere to be seen.
He pushed his way through the crowd, amidst offended gasps. Such untoward behaviour must have come from associating with common filth. There would be even more rumours circulating about his fall from grace in no time.
His cousins, desperate for more gossip, tried to get him to the dance floor. It had been almost two years since they had spoken to him. It was an intervention in the guise of a party, but they still wanted their curiosity sated.
Was a commoner really worth all the trouble?
Yes. More than his own heart understood...
Robert had been told ever since he was old enough to understand that he would marry a girl who had his family's blessing, and raise a son. His son would be given the same name as him, just like his father and grandfather before him. He knew what was expected of him, and there was comfort in always knowing his destiny.
He assumed his disinterest in women was simply because he was being forced to find the right bride as quickly as possible. He hadn't been allowed to be gay. It wasn't part of his family's grand scheme.
Along with plans for his future wife and son, he had been shuffled off to various lessons in the art of being a noble. He had learned music, dance, horse-riding... even medieval combat.
There really wasn't much call for a master of the flail in modern times, so he worked it into a little game he had been dabbling in...
He poured himself into perfecting his Beyblading techniques. It was the first thing he'd ever decided for himself, and even when he made his way to the top, and gained international fame for his talent, he was told it was not a desirable hobby; that he should take up a more gentlemanly sport.
It wasn't much of a rebellion, but he refused to give it up. Every win was like the world was telling him he was right.
Even though he did everything they wanted him to, the smallest thing he did for himself was a huge disappointment to his family. If he wasn't even allowed to choose his own hobbies, it was to be expected that he wouldn't be allowed to choose the person he fell in love with.
It didn't matter that he had fallen for a common boy, the Jurgens would have been just as angry if Michael had been a girl from a noble bloodline they didn't like.
There was no pleasing them, and Robert was only just learning that he had spent his whole life pretending to be their perfect little heir, who was not only vastly different to the person he actually was, but someone he could never truly be, no matter how hard he tried.
He pushed past the girls, with a single destination in mind. He knew how rude it was to speak over a conversation, but he no longer cared. His family had made it abundantly clear what they actually thought of him.
"Where is Michael?" He demanded.
His uncle gave him a disapproving look, excusing himself from the group he had been talking to.
"Are these American manners, Robert?"
The young lord ignored the stab at his guest, asking again where he was.
"He is not clinging to you, like the desperate little embarrassment he is?" The Duke gave a dramatic shrug. "Well then, I do not know."
"What have you done to him?"
"As much as I despise him, I would hardly harm your little friend... with so many witnesses around."
"Pardon?!"
"It was a joke. Much like your relationship."
Robert began to protest, but his uncle would not hear it.
"He is too common to understand the protocol, so he is the first person to openly express a romantic interest in you. If you are not strong enough, it is difficult to turn that kind of attention down. But tell me, Robert, do you actually love him, or do you love having sexual relations with him?"
"How dare you-"
"That is the only thing that baseborn mongrel has to offer you, is it not?"
Robert was so offended, it took all of his self-discipline to stop a violent reaction bubbling to the surface.
Of course he loved it. He loved that every night they had spent together since becoming an official couple, they made love. He knew every hill and vale of Michael's muscular body; where he was ticklish, and where he loved to be touched...
Even if Robert was not, Michael was a creature of the flesh, so their relationship was intensely physical. He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, but they meant so much more to each other than just carnal pleasure.
If he were just using him for his own gratification, the words his uncle had used to describe him wouldn't have made Robert's blood boil like they did.
"I remember my brother-" The older man continued, and then clarified, "Your father, had the same silly obsession with one of the servant girls when he was your age. Needless to say, it did not end well."
It was not allowed to end well, you mean.
Robert loved what he remembered of his mother. She had been a refined, elegant woman, with a lineage as prestigious as his father's, but had his father been forced to put aside his love for a common girl, and marry the right girl for the sake of family honour? When the time came, would Robert be expected to do the same thing?
Of course he would. It was the way the Jurgens had always worked.
There were flashes of moments. Strong arms were wrapped around him as desperate kisses rained down on his neck.
"Robert..." Michael slurred, his head flopping back against the wall, as the onslaught continued. "...Why didn't you tell me they hated me so much?"
He felt a chill; his pulse pounding in his head, as the kisses continued. It hurt, but he was too sleepy to protest. Was that drool he could feel trickling over his collarbone?
"I want to go home."
He hadn't had that much to drink - just a few sips of wine to be polite. He didn't want to embarrass Robert in front of his family any more than he already had, simply by existing.
But he couldn't remember the events leading up to this tryst in the garden - not that he minded Robert acting on the urges he usually kept so guarded. He just wished he felt a little better so that he could enjoy it more.
He could feel hands running down his chest, and unbuttoning his jacket. He slipped in and out of consciousness, stirring as he felt heated breath on his bare stomach.
"Robert, I'm sorry..." It was shameful that he couldn't even stay awake for his lover's affections, when he was being so...
This isn't right!
Every chance Michael got, he was on his knees for him. To take such a submissive position was something completely unthinkable to Robert. He was royalty - he did not kneel.
This isn't right...
He gave a weak moan as a sharp pain spread across his groin, before darkness engulfed him once more.