I'm really sorry it's been so long, that really was ages sorry!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed. And thank you to the guest reviewers who I can't thank by PM- and anyone else I missed!

One Month Later

The meeting dragged on.

Each echoing second the clock beat out seemed to take an hour to Yuki. He sat quietly, demurely, on Akito's right hand side. A folder was open in front of him. A shimmering metal pen held loosely between his slender fingers. His angular frame was artfully concealed by a handsome suit.

But shiny shoes and a fancy pen don't make a businessman, and Yuki was acutely aware of this.

He had attended many meetings with Akito over the past month... and dinners, and conferences, and so many more. He wasn't competent enough to take notes at the meetings yet but he did listen attentively. A lot of what was said was beyond his comprehension but what he did understand he reflected on intelligently. And gradually he was understanding more and more. The world of business had it's own language, and Yuki was working hard to learn it.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprising for Yuki who knew the depths of human depravity so well, the business world was strikingly similar to the world of prostitution. It was deals and bargains and getting your money's worth. It was luring in potential partners and convincing them you were worth investing in.

When Yuki realised how similar it was he had laughed hysterically. How fitting that he should be a whore his whole life. Maybe this could have been an escape, but no... all he was, all he ever would be... was a commodity. A hunk of flesh for others to sell, use and cast aside. He had laughed until the tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. Then he saw that despite this the eyes in the mirror were still cold and dead.

And he stopped laughing. But the tears were still there.

And now he had to pretend he was interested in stocks and shares. That he cared what Mr Pretentious Businessman's daughter was doing at summer school. It was still selling himself, just in a more subtle way.

And he had to pretend he was pleased when he felt Akito's foot feeling its way up his leg under the table. But Yuki had plenty experience pretending to be aroused, so this came naturally to him.

He took a gulp of water from the glass in front of him. If only it were vodka, he thought bitterly.

.

Generally though, the past month month had been alright for him. Compared to other months of his life it was fairly comfortable.

He hadn't had to sleep with a client since his declaration of love to Akito. There was sex with Akito -lots of it- but this was so integral a part of Yuki's life now that he hardly cared at all. It didn't hurt him as it once had, to give his body up for use. He didn't really feel it at all now; it meant next to nothing to him

But... it was the quiet moments. The slow ones, the soft ones. They were the moments which hurt Yuki. Which made a part of him recoil and shrivel up like a scared animal. A light kiss from Akito, a tender murmur, a gentle hand holding his own.

That was when Yuki fought the urge to scream.

He ate well, lavish lunches and dinners usually with business partners but sometimes just him and Akito. The Estate staff treated him like a client now, though their disdain for his new position was evident from the snide glares he often caught. He didn't care. A mean look could not touch him now.

He didn't care either about the crude comments and unashamed scrutinisation he recieved from some clients. Many were angry he was no longer on the menu and a few seemed to think they could still claim him for the night if they smiled sleazily at him. He ignored them all.

A few times a client had tried to grab him while they were mingling in the lounge. This wasn't an issue as Akito would appear in an instant with security and politely remind the client Yuki was no longer working.

There had been a time however when two men tried to grab him in the corridor between the lounge and Akito's quarters. He had been walking, confident, with his cold mask securely in place. Then suddenly out of the darkness there were hands and pain. Panic flooded Yuki's mind. He wanted to scream but he couldn't make a sound. The shock of unwanted touches brought buried memories churning to the forefront of his mind, busting from behind the damns he had built. He struggled fruitlessly, desperately yet half-heartedly for his body was slow and sluggish. It was fear he realised. Fear caused the bubbling in his stomach, the bile in his throat, the stiffness in his limbs. Frozen in fear. He might as well still be the trembling thirteen year old called to Akito's bedroom.

Something had happened then. There was a scuffle of sorts, much movement and noise in the dark, but Yuki couldn't really comprehend it. Perhaps some security had arrived and seen the men off. All Yuki knew was he was huddled on the floor, chest heaving pitifully. And a member of staff gazed down at this wretched sobbing form in confusion. But then, was Haru also in the corridor? Could Yuki not remember seeing his face there? He couldn't be sure through the panic in his mind and the watering of his eyes and the rough coughing from his trembling chest... but he was sure Haru had been there. He had looked angry... and sad. Was it Haru then who had saved him? Yuki didn't know.

That was one thing which did hurt Yuki. He missed Haru. He missed him bitterly.

And the others too. When he ate with Akito the food was rich, elaborate, delicious, but it did not compare to eating in that small dining room with the others. Tensions had often run high, and usually they were too tired to talk much. But there was an irreplaceable sense of shared experience. They were together in their suffering. They were more of a family than Yuki had ever known... more than he would ever know.

He saw them sometimes, as he trailed obediently after Akito, or walked hand-in-hand with him. Momiji seemed sad when he saw him. Haru was angry, disgusted. Yuki felt his glare on his back whenever Haru saw him walking with Akito. And Yuki didn't blame him. Six months ago if one of the others had forsaken their dignity to traipse around with Akito, to become his partner, Yuki would have hated them. Now he must bear their hatred. Another pebble added to the mountain weighing down on him.

He wasn't proud of abandoning them... his friends? And he wasn't proud of hurting her. And he was scared of what he was becoming.

Several weeks after Kyo had left Yuki felt himself sliding a notch down the slope to damnation.

Ayame had been working, mingling in the lounge with several exuberant older women. Yuki had been sitting in the plush armchairs with Akito. Several clients were seated around them, smoking and drinking sociably. The atmosphere was warm. There was a pleasant murmur of conversation. Haru was mingling with clients, as was Kagura. Yuki could see Hatori at the bar, talking with the bartender.

Then the drama began. It seemed a man had decided he would be spending the night with Ayame and pushed one of the women aside. Instinctively Ayame had hit the man. A small scuffle broke out.

A spike of panic had speared him at the first sign of violence but Yuki smothered it well and now watched with apparent indifference. A businessman next to him offered Yuki a cigar and he accepted graciously, allowing the man to light it for him with a beautiful smile. Then he turned back to the fight, calmly smoking.

Ayame shouldn't of course have hit the man; the client is always right. Another man had joined now, fiercely punching Ayame. And now he did not fight back. He knew he had been wrong to hit the man. It wasn't long till his contract would be over, then he'd be free. He just had to behave until then. So he let the blows from the men rain down upon him. It wasn't in his nature to be submissive; with every burst of pain he wanted to fight back and occasionally he would strike back before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure when he hit the floor but soon it was kicks instead of punches and the pain was sharp. Most people in the lounge were watching the show now.

Yuki smoked calmly and sipped from his glass of water as though his brother wasn't being beaten in front of him.

An amused chuckle came from behind him. Akito.

"Well this has been fairly amusing," he began, and all attention was on him, "But I do feel it is spoiling the mood. Lets wrap it up now, shall we gentlemen?" His voice was a dangerous purr and the men nodded, remembering their surroundings.

Some conversation resumed in the distant areas of lounge and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

"But... how do you feel Yuki, seeing Ayame like this?" Akito's voice was delicate and balanced. And Yuki knew this was an important moment.

He put his glass down and leaned forward slightly, to better observe Ayame panting on the ground between the two men. A trickle of blood wound its way from the corner of his brother's mouth. Seeing Ayame allowing himself to be beaten had stirred something deep within Yuki but he couldn't address it, couldn't acknowledge it, or he would be sick. He would break.

So instead he leaned back again and he knew his mask was flawless. A cruel smiled curved his lips upward.

"I feel it is right. It is where he belongs."

A few of the clients sitting with them laughed and murmured appreciatively. Ayame's desperate, disheveled face fell. He looked... disappointed.

Akito was smiling contentedly to his side.

"Excellent," he muttered. "Well please help him up gentlemen."

And the two men dragged Ayame off the floor and supported his sagging, battered body tightly between them.

"So who shall Ayame spend the night with Yuki? One of the lovely ladies over there? Or one of these fine gentlemen?"

Yuki knew whatever he answered would be done. And he knew of course what he should answer for Ayame. But he knew also what he had to answer.

"I think... both of these fine gentlemen could have a satisfying evening with Ayame. And it should be on the house. It is only right to apologise for his rudeness."

One of the men beside Yuki roared with laughter. Akito seemed satisfied. He traced circles up Yuki's thigh.

Yuki sat back and took a long drag from the cigar.

The man were laughing and muttering in satisfaction. With a polite nod both to Yuki and Akito they guided the unresisting Ayame from the lounge. And Ayame didn't look angry. He just looked disappointed. And that was so much harder for Yuki to deal with. You should be angry. You should hate me. I hope you hit me tomorrow.

But Ayame never did.

That night Yuki couldn't shake off the deep feeling of sickness in his gut and he couldn't get Ayame's disappointment out of his mind. He stormed into the tiny room off Akito's bedroom which had once been his room. He rushed to the cabinet and wrenched it open with such a force that one of the doors broke off. It was empty. What he needed wasn't there. He could go to the bar... he was entitled to that now -but he could hear Akito approaching now. And he pushed himself, trembling, to his feet and into Akito's bedroom.

Akito was pleased with him and their lovemaking was passionate. But exhausted as he was by it, Yuki couldn't sleep. In the early hours he staggered to the bathroom and dry-retched into the sink. There was nothing to throw up but he felt so awful. He wanted this feeling to be gone. What had he done? What had be become? He wanted to be numb.

.

It had been five weeks since he had returned, since Kyo had left. Akito was hosting an important dinner. Dressed in a stylish suit he looked very handsome and his natural charm and confidence made him a born entertainer. He told Yuki the rules of etiquette for such a prestigious dinner, and Yuki rather suspected Akito was training him to be as good a host as he was. Yuki knew he looked good too; he saw the way the guests approvingly appraised him when they entered.

Maybe you should stay away, Yuki thought. I may be beautiful on the outside but beneath the surface my soul is foul.

None seemed to get the warning, judging by the way they fawned over him.

The dinner went well. The conversation flowed, the food was delicious, Akito was successfully closing deals. Yuki almost relaxed. The main course had been cleared and a serving girl refilled his glass with orange juice. He had politely refused the wine which the other guests were contentedly drinking. Since his stint in solitary he hadn't had any alcohol. Sometimes he very strongly wanted it, needed it, but so far he had resisted. He didn't want that level of dependency again. Not on anything.

And it was as he was gazing around, feeling strangely grateful for the fullness he felt, for the meal he had just consumed. It was then that his guard dropped for a second. And when his eyes fell on his wine glass filled with orange juice, it hit him like a bomb.

Suddenly all the sharp pieces inside him, which had been balanced so precariously for so long, shifted violently. In his mind he was on a park bench in twilight, sipping orange juice from wine glasses. The memory was so clear and sharp. He could feel the cold air on his arms, hear the shrill cries of the birds. And it tore him to shreds.

He wasn't aware of standing and leaving, he only knew that he must have for suddenly he was outside in the brisk night and he was staggering under the weight and pain of this assault of memories. He must not let his guard down. He could not relax. He could not remember.

Because he couldn't cope with these memories.

He used the walls of the building to support him when he felt the world spinning around him.

He had to focus. He couldn't lose his composure this easily. He had to be perfect, flawless. He breathed deeply through his nose. It wasn't so bad. He could manage this. He only had to return, apologise for his sudden absence, and continue with the meal. That was all. He could do this. He could do this.

But then he noticed he was still clutching the wine glass, now empty of juice, in his hand. And all those dammed sharp pieces shifted again and speared him anew.

Without consciously deciding anything he spun and hurled the glass at the wall of the building, desperate to get it away from him. It shattered satisfyingly, bursting apart into hundreds of tiny pieces.

As soon as it smashed Yuki fell to his knees, as though all the energy had left his body. As though he were that stupid glass which now lay glittering in pieces amongst the dark, damp grass.

He didn't realise he was shouting, swearing and sobbing. All that noise seemed to be within his mind. Unfortunately it wasn't, and people were soon drawn to him. Some of his old friends, some staff members, some of that evening's dinner guests, and Akito himself gathered around the spectacle.

Several staff seemingly guided him into Akito's quarters. Suddenly he was alone, on Akito's bed. His chest was tight and his breathing laboured. But he could think clearly again. He had lost focus there. His act had faltered. And they had seen... their piercing eyes had seen him fall. He only hoped Akito didn't know why he had reacted that way. Either way, he knew there would be repercussions...

He was proved right. When Akito returned an hour later he was livid. Yuki could feel his anger as soon as he entered the room.

"What a mess you've made Yuki!" he spat bitterly. "What a nice show in front of such important guests."

He didn't sit but remained standing over Yuki. Yuki knew better than to protest, so he merely tried to look sorry. After a long moment Akito exhaled angrily.

"It seems you haven't climbed as far from the gutter as I had hoped. Another lesson should educate you."

Yuki knew 'lesson' meant punishment and he felt something very small and fragile crumble within him. He could never be strong. He could never be brave. He was too broken to ever be complete and now he must life in perpetual fear. It was such a tiring thing to contemplate.

Akito looked pensive. "We shall just have to wait for a suitable educational opportunity to present itself... For now Yuki, get ready for bed. We have a meeting with the accountant in the morning."

And Yuki trudged to the bathroom with a heavy sense of dread. It was not going to be a physical punishment then.

It was going to be worse. If Akito was waiting for the perfect moment it was going to be something which would hurt Yuki dearly. An emotional punishment.

.

Several more weeks passed. Yuki continued going to meetings and business events with Akito. He continued to be devoted and tender towards him.

He felt himself drifting daily further from the others and the life he had once led.

He didn't think about Tohru because he couldn't. Everything was stable, but Yuki felt a constant unease as a result of the lingering punishment. He would wake from frighting and confusing dreams almost every night.

And finally, Akito's perfect moment arrived. And when it did Yuki wished he could continue living with the perpetual unease instead.

They were dressing one evening, Akito changing into a striking grey suit for evening drinks with a client. Yuki sat at the dresser still shirtless, half-heartedly styling his hair. Akito ghosted over to him and placed something delicately yet deliberately on the counter in front of him. Yuki glanced at it with disinterest, then froze, his hand still at his head as he gazed in understanding and shock at the item. He hoped, he hoped desperately, that it didn't mean what he was sure it must.

A slender tube of liquid eyeliner.

But Yuki hadn't used eyeliner since he had stopped selling himself.

He looked to Akito desperately, feeling as vulnerable and pitiful as a child. His question was plastered over his face, and Akito smirked to see it.

"Something wrong, my dear?"

Yuki didn't answer but he lowered his hand slowly from his hair and gestured to the eyeliner.

Akito smiled and evidently decided to put him out of his misery.

"You'll need to wear that tonight my love." He smiled and moved behind Yuki. Yuki was still frozen, staring at the tube with loathing, as the waves of cruel understanding crashed down upon him.

"Why?" he managed to ask.

Akito bent down and Yuki felt his warm breath on his neck. It made him shiver. He whispered maliciously in Yuki's ear.

"Because tonight... you will be a painted whore once more. For one night only. I said I would wait for the perfect opportunity to... teach you... and the heavens have been kind to us. Tonight is just such a chance. You will be entertaining a very special guest."

He withdrew from Yuki and stood behind him. Yuki saw his excited smile in the mirror.

Neither of them moved for some time, and Yuki was frantically trying to remain calm. He could do this. This was nothing to him now, surely. But he had so desperately hoped he wouldn't have to wear that dammed eyeliner again. He had so desperately hoped he was done with giving his body up to others.

And he wondered who this special guest was, and why Akito had decided this would be his punishment. He thought all of this whilst maintaining a cool mask of indifference. He saw Akito was waiting, and with great difficulty he managed to respond.

"Of course master" he murmured.

And he reached forward and picked up the damn eyeliner he hated so much.

.

When he entered the lounge Yuki felt again a great sense of vulnerability. Somehow now that he was back here as a whore he could no longer ignore the stares of the clients which pierced him and stripped him, leaving him feeling bare and exposed before them. He stumbled on his way into the lounge, unable to maintain his usual confident stride under the onslaught of emotions churning within him.

Akito walked closely behind him, guiding him into the lounge. He told him to find a seat, and left with a serious look of warning.

Yuki selected an armchair rather then the bar stools which would leave him too close to temptation. He drummed his fingers nervously on his leg. He felt so bare, so alone. He sensed rather then saw the glances of Haru and the others towards him as he waited anxiously.

After what felt like a long time Akito returned. He entered smoothly, nodding politely and smiling suavely at those clients who greeted him. His eyes found Yuki instantly and he walked directly towards him. As he did Yuki was able to see the person who followed in his wake.

And he knew he wasn't the only one. Others turned to stare too, clients and workers alike.

The man was agile in his movements, skillfully winding around the couches and clients. He was well dressed, in a crisp suit and shiny shoes.

His shock of orange hair was artfully styled.

And Yuki felt like he was falling in slow motion as they approached him, smiling hungrily as though Yuki were an animal caught in a trap.

And Yuki struggled to breathe. To comprehend.

Kyo was back... as a client.

.