"What the hell has gotten into you?" Alfred snapped as Arthur paced the floor. "A couple of days ago, that little brat—Yao Wang—he didn't exist. Now, here you are, your fists clenched, half-willing to kill for him!"

"You don't understand," Arthur replied, and Alfred raised an eyebrow, for there wasn't even an "imbecile," or "dolt," or some breed of insult tacked at the end of that sentence. "When I was in that room, in that little Chinese boy's room... I…. I came to life while I was with him. Don't you see? Arthur Kirkland has been dead these past five years, give or take a couple…"

NO! NonoNONOnononono—

"Don't be nervous," Arthur was saying softly as he lifted the boy's shirt.

Yao was completely rigid with fear, goosebumps forming all over the pale, perfect skin. The boy was awkwardly lying spread-eagle on the dark sheets; one gangly, white naked leg was raised up in the air as the British man loomed over him. Arthur patted his cheek; as the rough palm caressed the side of his contorted face, Yao tried as hard as he could to disguise the murder in his golden eyes.

Be a 'good little peony,' Kiku's voice echoed in his racing mind. Be a good, little—

Yao tipped his head in submission, softening his tone as much as he could. "Please, sir," he started quietly, through clenched teeth, "may I—" He stopped short as the hand, as though growing in boldness, moved away from his face and began stroking Yao's long hair, his shoulders…

The world went dark as he was being kissed full, on the mouth. Arthur didn't release him for the longest time, and when they finally broke apart, the Englishman smiled. The Chinese boy's full, soft lips were like segments of sweet, warm orange. "I've missed you." The throaty, accented voice sounded dry, and hoarse, but also unmistakably tender. "And now—" The Englishman suddenly leered. "Here you are." The boy felt soft lips descend near his ear, burrowing in the strands of his hair.

"My angel."

The hands had traveled down his back and were clawing his buttocks. As his control slipped, segments of Yao's long, brutal training by Kiku slowly set in: physically, he felt himself almost wanting the other man, almost wanting him to want him.

"Have you missed me?" Arthur was obviously savoring every moment of this as Yao panted. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen… and so young…"

You're behaving like the real brute I remembered you to be, greedily devouring every last morsel of my innocence, Yao wanted to shoot at him, but before he could say a thing, his trousers were pooled around his ankles, and the Englishman's hands encircled his hips. "When are you going to put me out of my misery?" he demanded as he slipped his hand down the child's back, groping for his entrance. Yao shook his head desperately as he tried to fight his rising arousal.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he heard a command. The Chinese boy's face was burning in humiliation. Arthur's hands were around his hips, holding him in place as he fingered him. Arthur frowned as his fingers slid in; the boy had been stretched since they'd last met.

"Does… I mean, uh, are you… are you feeling well?" Alfred's voice was incredulous; yet, deeply cautious not to offend. "Because you're not exactly making any sense at all."

"I'm not sounding like I'm making any sense because I haven't been completely upfront with you." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck as he turned around to look the American in the face. "I work eighty-hour weeks at the company and when I get home, I overeat until I'm too tired to keep my eyes open— but even then I have trouble sleeping. Alfred, I hardly have dreams anymore, because I'm an insomniac. I haven't missed the late-night show in years."

"What does that have anything to do with buying that Chinese kid?"

"I like you and trust you, Alfred, I know that you feel the same way. But what I crave is… well, a lover. You might not know this about me, Alfred, but… I'm…. I'm pretty lonely."

"What?" the Englishman said as he ceased his ministrations.

"What do you want from me?" Yao whispered again, the tears in the corners of his eyes threatening to fall from their precipice.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, dear," Arthur replied, one hand still planted on Yao's sharp hip.

"What do you want from me? Who are you?" Yao's voice increased in volume as he shrank back. "Why did you stalk me for so long, and tear me away from my home and everything I know? Why me, when there are so many other available boys at the Sacred Lotus?"

The prominent eyebrows on the Englishman's face had furrowed in what appeared to be utter befuddlement; meanwhile, his grasp on Yao's body slackened as the boy grew more and more worked up, sliding his body away sideways.

"I-I want to go home." Yao started to sob in earnest, and raised his eyes to gaze into the saddened, bottle-green ones before him. "Wh—what do you have against me? Why do you hate me so?"

"I love you!" Arthur cried.

Yao's tears stopped then, and his lower lip trembled like jelly. Arthur was no longer on the bed. He was on his knees; one hand was cupping the child's face and the other was grasping his bony little shoulder.

"You understand? I love you!"

(-"You understand that I love you, Yao," Kiku was saying as he caressed the boy's bare thigh there in the bathroom, and Yao was not sure why but he felt a sliver of a promise of erotic fulfillment embodied by Kiku's sentence.)

"Wh—"

"From the moment I met you, I knew—I can't go on without you!" Arthur had risen to his feet.

The boy felt himself being pushed roughly, yet affectionately, onto his back, and the blanket falling around them. There was a soft rustling sound as Arthur pulled the boy close, squeezing his arms around his waist. Yao's hair was so fragrant; it was the sweetest perfume in the world as he kissed the boy's shoulder. "Forgive me, Yao. I'll take care of you from now on," he was whispering, fitting himself against the tiny body. "I promise. You'll forget all about that awful whorehouse. I will make you the happiest boy in the world."

Arthur hugged the Chinese boy close to him. "As long as you… well, as long as you remember who you belong to… but do not worry, for I will teach you… "

As the stubbled jaw nuzzled his neck, Yao turned his head away and found he was facing a large ornate French window. Below, he could glimpse exactly one story downwards towards the yard; two straight rows of workers, keeping their eyes downcast, milled about in a low-key manner as they trimmed the bushes.

One striking figure broke that perfect symmetry. Wielding a pair of clippers, the tallest person on the lawn, draped in what appeared to be a long scarf despite the heat of midday, was standing nearly perfectly still. He was staring straight at the boy.

The boy blinked. Was that tall man truly looking at him? Or was he checking out something else, perhaps the cracks in the awning over the house?...

No. That piercing violet gaze was holding him hostage now, with an expression that he could not decipher. At the same time, a tiny inkling of a plan was sprouting in the boy's childish head.

Then he was being pulled back. Arthur was kissing him again, ruffling the black mane as he did so. Hesitating at first, Yao gradually uncoiled his body, stretching like a cat. At the generous gesture, Arthur smiled widely and positioned himself along the Chinese boy's long, slender body. "What do you think, love? What is on your mind?"

Yao cleared his throat before speaking, the long white stretch of skin bobbing once as Arthur gazed at him in naked anticipation. "It is a very lovely home," Yao started, smiling back at the Englishman. Arthur beamed.

"All of it—my wealth, my bed; it's for you," he could barely contain his excitement. "I've thought of everything—you have your own bath, dressing-room, study... we can go exploring later if you'd like!"

"I'd love that. I am very excited," Yao replied with an appreciative purr. "You have been most kind and generous to me."

Yao had seen countless men melt before his ministrations during the boy's various appointments at the Sacred Lotus, but never so utterly and completely as the hot blond disarray before him.

"You mean it?" Arthur fawned. "It's for you alone. For us, alone."

"I feel as though my birthday has come."

"Sweet Jesus, it just occurred to me that I don't know when your birthday is!"

"To be honest, I don't know either."

"Well—what better way to symbolize the beginning of eternal love… I declare that this will be your birthday!"

A radiant grin spread along Arthur's face as he lowered himself between the boy's legs. His own trousers were bulging as he coated two fingers in lubricant and slid them in between Yao's cheeks. "I'll have Alfred show you your new bedroom," he said as he entered the boy. "It's going to be next to mine…" He closed his eyes, shuddering in pleasure.

"But master," Yao gasped as the man pushed in and out of him, "what about my clothes and belongings back at the Sacred—"

"Clothes?" Arthur was seconds away from bursting. "You don't need those old things, I'll take you shopping for a new wardrobe," he groaned in mid-thrust. "I'll … give you … all you need…" And he spurted his seed inside of Yao.

Alfred was waiting inside Yao's new bedroom with armfuls of new gifts when Yao staggered inside, bow-legged, wincing and clutching himself. "I've been waiting for you, kid."

"Me, too." Yao quietly closed the door.

"Huh? You have?" Alfred exclaimed, surprise written all over his round face.

"Yes. What I said. I have a proposition for you." Yao looked straight into the sky-blue eyes. "I believe we can help each other out."