"Ouch."

Bubba grimaced.

"This would be a whole lot easier for both of us if you would stop squirming and keep your pretty mouth shut. The cries of agony are stressing me out."

"Yes sir," Flame whimpered.

"I'm not even fucking you kid, I am pulling shards of glass out of your feet. Please keep all moaning to a minimum. You're so sensitive, for an ex-gang member, you know. Everything gets you twitching." His manservant did not respond, knowing he wasn't supposed to.

"Did your father ever hurt you? I mean, big angry clan leader, right? Wouldn't he naturally be a bit more violent?"

Is he...trying to start a conversation?

Bubba rarely interacted with Flame outside of reprimanding and other less apropriate things, so the teen felt blessed for any sort of conversation he could get. Even if parental abuse wasn't exactly a common theme for table talk.

Flame stared at his feet, golden brown eyes locked on to their target. He still wasn't sure if he was actually being invited into conversation. After all, he had just been told to shut up immediately.

Against his better judgement the boy spoke, releasing smothered syllables while his superior looked down on him, bearing a pair of shiny tweezers. Bubba's aunt was to return from her business trip in two days time, so that meant her nephew was the only one present to handle their worker's many errors and self-inflicted wounds.

"My dad never really hurt me, actually."

It was a stupid question anyways. Suspicious, pathetic, we both know I fail at communication.

"Oh."

"I mean, he set me on fire once, but I think i was an accident."

The candy prince perked up, tweezers latching onto skittish flesh and yanking. Flame howled and sprang up from his seat, wincing as he sparred against the pain. Bubba covered his mouth in retaliation, although he was tempted to shut his eyes and scream.

Pain. Bubba despised the sounds,the sights, the sense of guilt. He hated the things that caused it too, such as guns and knives and love and fathers. He was absolutely repulsed by pain, and if he could he might just end the concept altogether.

Thankfully the freckled teen's reaction was quick, completely over almost as soon as it had began.

"He set you on fire?!"

Flame rubbed at the sole of his left foot, only to have his hand smacked away. If he picked at it, the pain would only worsen.

"I would like not to talk about it, if that's alright with you, sir. The whole "Flame" nickname thing and all...can we just not talk about it?

Marshall and Flame were a lot alike, but the prince's servant was softer, clumsier (if possible), less of a challenge. Bubba hadn't killed his mom, they didn't fight over stupid things, Flame would never hurt him or distract him at all.

He was...safer. The disaster-proof option. Easier to please, easier to tease, the best solution to a headache.

Like one of those cheesy damn commercials, but not a total lie.

Flame (or whatever his real name was) had stopped picking at his foot, and stared back at his current companion. His infinite freckles ran across his cheeks and drew down towards his shirt collar, where Bubba knew they continued in a similar pattern across the rest of his entirety. The blush made his spots pop even more, as he stared oh-so-innocently with his sweet doe eyes.

He helped him get the last sliver of glass out. Bubba could have kissed him.

Marshall had called him a name, Marshall whom he trusted was going to hurt him and the flowers Bubba bought with his own money lay locked away forever, Marshall couldn't possibly like him and his stupid servant boy would so obviously do anything in the pink prep's name.

So Bubba could have kissed him, quite easily. Quite willingly.

They continued their staring match for almost a full minute, Bubba placed his hands on the other boy's chest so that he could feel his yearning heartbeat, practically begging for the affection.

Finally, the eldest boy broke the silence, and turned his face away. His pretty pink room was singing, and his own heart was beating wildly. He thought he saw Marshall's face for a moment, and resisted the urge to vomit.

"You should scrub your feet down, they smell terrible."