Warm night air wraps around us as I help him to the door of my latest home. Although the humidity is at nearly stifling levels, he's got his jacket completely buttoned up. I search for the keys and he slumps against me. Thick clouds rolled in earlier this evening contrary to the assurances of local forecasters. I hope there's more in store than a brief summer thunderstorm. The soft patter of rain has always had a sedating effect on me. His proximity and sleepy languidness keenly noted, I know I'll need every bit of help to keep from crossing the boundaries of our relationship.

He's simply too important to me and I won't risk losing his company by moving too quickly, forcing him out of a clearly established comfort zone. When we're together, either around others or just catching the late-night movie, he's usually relaxed and carelessly cheerful. However, there have been times when a glance, word or gesture would bring a frightened cast to his eyes. A moment of passivity that quickly fades, this reaction intrigues and terrifies me. I yearn to share all these marvelous sensations with him; but there's something he keeps hidden, a pain from his soul's depths. Until he volunteers the information behind that secret, I will continue to keep my distance in this strange dance.

Cheap wood already beginning to swell, the door sticks at first. Pushing it open, we pile into the living room and sprawl on the worn carpet. Laughing, I get up and firmly bolt the door before pulling him to his feet. "Time for bed, love."

There must be something in my tone I didn't intend, for he shrinks from me and seems nervously alert. "So soon?" he asks, voice quavering with uncertainty. Not waiting for my response, he seems to make up his mind and moves in closer. "Whatever you want." He drapes his arms around my neck. Meeting my gaze, he murmurs, "Anything for you."

Confused but encouraged by the unexpected clarity of his actions, I lead the way to my cramped bedroom. I hadn't counted on him showing up unannounced on the doorstep this morning, flushed and breathless. He didn't allude to his purpose on colony in the busy day that followed. Happy just to be spending time with him, I didn't think to question how long he'd stay... or where.

"It's a bit of a mess." A glaring understatement. Even after living here nearly a month, most of the space is taken up by still-packed boxes or second-hand furniture. I guess the idea of "home" won't register for a while yet--too used to living like a nomad.

He flops onto the rumpled bed and lies there bonelessly. "Nope. It's absolutely perfect." I stop him when he tries to nudge his shoes off.

"Let me get those for you." I kneel by the bed and gently massage his feet once I've stripped off the socks. "How does that feel?"

He sleepily mumbles his approval, confirming my instinct that the slow caresses would by most comforting. Outside, the wind increases to a muted groan as the first stab of lightning splits a boiling gloom. Before the following rumble fades, rain is noisily lashing every window and drumming on the roof. The apartment is plunged into darkness when a second flash earths dangerously close. The perils of living in a low-rent district. With a sigh, I feel my way to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"There should be a flashlight in the kitchen."

"Don't bother. The electricity will be restored by morning." I hear movement across the room. He ties back a curtain, letting in a feeble light that limns each object in it's path, softening edges and blurring the previous uniform black into dozens of shifting shadows. "Come back to bed," he pleads, one hand reaching to me.

I slip to his side and clasp the offered hand to my chest. This near, I can hear his breathing--deliberate and controlled, but just barely so. "You know that I love you. I don't want you to do something if it makes you uncomfortable," I whisper. Leaning in, he silences me with a long, tender kiss.

Hastily, I fumble at his clothes, peeling off each layer. His roaming hands tug my shirt loose, but stop short of removing it completely. Casting garments aside, I push him back against the mattress and struggle out of my shirt.

As the storm rages on, periodic thunder and lightning provide counterpoints to our increasingly desperate motions. Giving in to urges that have been plaguing me from time immemorial, I crave the heat of flesh on flesh. He runs his slender fingers through my hair, his only reaction other than delightful gasps and moans as I continue to ghost kisses over his body. I want to claim every inch, mark each part for my own--it would be a fair exchange: long ago did he capture my heart and soul.

Grasping his wrists, I break away to admire his perfect form. "Beautiful... do you know how lovely you are, my little one?" I breathe. My lips brush against his pulse before I return my attentions to satisfying these overwhelming desires. Each new positive sensual action is filed away, with particular care paid to eliciting the most pleasure for my partner.

Skin alive and nearing the point of excruciating erotic avarice, I slide down to stretch out, covering his gloriously delicate body. Our fingers interlace of their own volition for a moment. A tremendous crash of thunder slams the outer walls, startling me and drawing a low whimper from him. Hoping to soothe, I slow, shifting slightly to clutch him in a loose embrace. "It's alL right. You're safe with me."

Again comes the tiny sound of fear. Another strike fills the room with light. I notice in the instant that his eyes are shut tight, face an expressionless mask. Sitting up, I touch his cheek. Turning away from me, he begins to silently mouth something. Though I can't hear it this time, being too removed physically, I know what he is saying--"Please. Stop."

No, I won't let this happen now. Maybe I can salvage tonight if I work quickly. Replaying the last few minutes in my head, I search for some triggering act--any seemingly insignificant item that could be construed as threatening. With a surge of horror, I realize my very posture might have started it; surely a larger and stronger individual, straddling him and restricting his hands could be unwelcome. In the dark it could be terrifying, no matter it was I.

Immediately, I roll to the side and pull him over me, letting him assume a more commanding position. A cold and calculating movement, but it's the only way I think I can make him understand I won't ever hurt him on purpose. "I need you to focus on my voice, love. Be with me, right here and right now. It's just the two of us, angel. Don't be afraid." Please let him hear me. Please let him know the truth of my affection.

I gently move underneath him until his head rests lightly on my chest. Stroking his fair hair, I hope he feels my heartbeat slow and takes it as a calming sign. A chill wetness of tears falls over me as I continue speaking. Even if the words don't register, their tone must for he seems quieted for the moment.

"Be still, little one."

He wriggles out of my embrace and scrambles away, curling up on the bed's edge. I want to go to him, but he needs some time to collect himself. Eyes unseeing, he shivers in the humid night. Crouching as far away as possible, I wait. When he regains his balance, I will be here...no matter how long it takes.

It was supposed to be different... I was going to be in control. All day long, I made every decision, no matter how trivial--from where we would lunch to whether or not to take in a show. I began to feel that it might just work out for the better. This time if I took the initiative, if I did as much as possible to distance myself from the foolishly arrogant boy I was... we might get through this night and there would be no turning back, no regrets. Only the future. Only us.

Now he sits apart from me, keeping watch. Why is he so patient? The gaping silence becomes oppressive. Heavy with expectation, it weighs terribly. Do I give in and fill it with my confessions to alleviate this double burden? I can see the pain in his deep green eyes every time I push him farther away, but to have him so close is a comfort that quickly changes to torment through no fault of his own. It is my weakness that harms us both... my frailties.

I think they formed years ago, in Father's house. He never had time for me--there were so many more important matters to attend to. Because of that, my childhood was mainly a series of stern governesses, all named Gertrude, Eugenia or Brunhilde, chanting the same strict admonitions. There were so many rules: don't run, don't talk loudly, don't say anything unless you are asked a question, don't bother the adults, stay out of the way and don't ever complain.

Yes, children must have set limitations, but this system only served to make me feel more isolated. Father was someone to be adored, respected but never to be seen as a friend. Until he started working at the house, I did not have anyone to play with, a companion on my own level. Perhaps a little over a decade older, he treated me like a real person and encouraged me to break rules--be a child. "Have fun while you can, squirt," he would say with a conspiratorial wink.

We became very close... with each secret rebellion he would praise me, speak the words I needed to hear from Father. Then one day, I went too far and broke all the rules. All because the cherry trees in the garden were blossoming. With difficulty, I climbed high enough to pluck a short branch. The staff would be angry if they found out I had damaged the tree.

I ran as quickly as possible to my room to hide the treasure, but I was not looking where I was going. Suddenly someone was in the corridor ahead of me. There was no way I could stop in time, so I scrambled up from the floor as soon as the impact was over. Maybe I could still get away.

A large hand mercilessly clamped down on my shoulder to spin me around. Too late. Shoving the stolen bough behind, I kept my eyes firmly fixed on my feet and waited for the chastisement.

"You've been a very naughty boy, Quatre." Wait a minute... only one servant would address me with such impudent familiarity.

"Tony, we've got to hide or they'll punish me," I whispered. I could hear footsteps down the hall and assumed the worst. With a smile, he pulled me into the closest empty room--it was the linen closet for that level. In the fragrant darkness, I felt safe and secure. After I calmed down and steadied my breathing, I noticed how tightly he was holding me to him. I told him to let go. He did, but then he made me promise not to tell anyone about it.

That confused me--had he been doing anything wrong? Well, besides aiding and abetting a known danger to cultivated foliage.

"Now, what is it you've done this time, you little monkey?" He flicked on a light switch and settled back.

Shyly, I brought out the plundered item. "It's so pretty I had to have it." Even as I said the words, I knew my motive was unforgivably selfish and shortsighted. His laughter made the situation worse. How could he so cruelly mock me?

"Well, there's nothing wrong about that. It was created to be beautiful-- to be enjoyed. Otherwise, how would the trees attract the insects that help make fruit?" Again, he smiled to soften the comment. "No. Some things were just made lovely. Like you."

Trailing his fingers down the side of my face, he leaned forward. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" I knew I should stop him, but... I did not. He made me promise another time to keep it all a secret. I was afraid he would not like me anymore if I told anyone.

A friend--that is what I wanted more than life itself. If I betrayed his trust in my word, he would likely leave me. Leave me all alone in this too- large, alien world.

Staying true, I kept quiet. Each time we were alone after that, he would touch me--I could tell it was inappropriate; it just was not right. But if it made him happy, none of that mattered. These "games" slowly became more painful, more shameful. I started to protest, but it seemed to fuel his actions. Perhaps I might have ended it before Father dismissed Tony for petty theft. However, I have never shared the load I carry; the horrible wound remains weeping.

For, ultimately, I am to blame.

If only I were not weak. This gentle nature--I hate it and I despise my complacent behaviour. I loathe it because it is what drew him time and again. It was what he wanted to see, the pretty and powerful humbled.

Now someone else is hurt when an innocent gesture forces those filthy memories to surface. My twisted, perverted essence blackens another's life with its mere existence. Yet still he waits out these turbulent moments. Always forgiving, he lets me fall into the warm security of his arms when I need shelter from myself. Though I do not deserve his kindness, he offers it freely.

The storm outside has spent itself and is content to drizzle lethargically into the early morning hours. Exhausted in mind and body, I must sleep. Timidly, he lies beside me, the only contact his fingers barely brushing my arm. Before fading into a realm of fitful dreams, I hear his sad voice repeat what has become a familiar lament.

"You once said I saved your soul, little one. I just reminded you why I love you so. Let me keep telling, showing you the truth of your heart and maybe, someday, we'll both be saved."

Truly, I wish his heart's desire could be fulfilled. Perhaps it will... one day.