He sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. He felt protective towards Dove already. . . now that he knew Dove wasn't after sex. He should have known, after all, Dove made no move to touch him, no hints at all, as anyone who was remotely interested in sex would do. Dove was too innocent, too easily hurt, especially for one who was only a few years younger than Lancelot himself. He stared at the open door again and frowned.

The phone rang, startling him out of the bed, and he rushed to answer it, hoping that it was Dove.

But it wasn't. It was Ms Tuttle. Her screeching voice made him want to hang up. "Where the hell is Dove?!" She asked, and Lancelot could feel her seething anger almost emanate in waves from the phone. "I've been trying to page him for five hours, and he still hasn't responded. And I know he knows how to use the pager and the phone, I made sure to show him myself. What did you do to him?"

Lancelot winced and imagined her staring at him accusingly. "Nothing. . . I. . . I guess I might have said some things that could have upset him."

He put the phone a few feet away from his ear at the blast of screaming and cursing that issued forth from the receiver.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still holding the phone away from his ear. Finally, he got tired and set down the phone, falling back onto the bed. He was seriously worried about Dove. . . and not only because Dove could get him fired either. He seriously felt genuinely contrite for the awful words he said.

Finally, he got up off the bed, a look of determination in his eyes. He wasn't supposed to leave the room. . . . but this was an emergency. Damn the collar, damn the palace rules. Fuck this whole place. All he could remember was that moment, still in time in which he felt himself sucked into the power of two wide green eyes and the endless portions of pain and loneliness held inside their depths. It was like . . . an awakening, of what a fucking asshole he was. And, like the Ancient Mariner, he too would redeem himself, and learn to be kind to all creatures great and small. In this case-small and frightened, infinitely innocent and exquisite, and everything that Lancelot didn't think a man should be. He took a deep breath, and ran out into the great unknown of the palace complex.

This garden was not the garden of delights that he had gazed upon for so many hours. This garden was uncovered, with prickly, spiny desert plants and shrubs. The hot desert rain poured down and beat upon the top of his head, soaking his new clothes. In the back of his mind, he had a niggling thought that Ms. Tuttle was going to get very angry at him for getting his new clothes all wet, but Dove just sighed. Lancelot already hated him, so why not Ms. Tuttle too? He was sure that Ms. Tuttle thought he was a "homersexual" too, whatever homersexual meant. She was just too nice to say it.

He sat down on a hard marble bench and stared up at the rain, so that it splattered all over his face, falling down his cheeks, mingling with his salty tears, so that he could forget he was crying and pretend that it was just water that fell down past his eyes to fall upon his clothes. He knew he should go back, but he couldn't. He just couldn't face Lancelot, who hated him so. Sometimes, he wished he was just a slave again. Even though he was lonely, life was simple. And he was ignorant of the fact that he was a homersexual.

Dove closed his eyes and let the setting sun stain his eyelids red, pretending that he was floating in the desert sky, at one with the horizon, free, blowing with the wind, without a care in the world.

Dove didn't want to. He stiffened, when he heard Lancelot's voice, and yet all the slave training and years of quietly obeying gentle, firm voices had not yet been erased by the knowledge of owning an unlimited amount of money. "I don't want to. . . " he whispered, but he did anyway, lashes lifting, large blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. He looked up at Lancelot with all the feelings reflected in the mirrors of his eyes, and Lancelot again took a deep breath, steadying himself from the blast of intensity contained in those twin azure orbs.

"Don't cry, Dove. I'm sorry. . . I was an asshole. I shouldn't have said that. There's nothing wrong with you, nothing at all. You're just too innocent, too sweet, and I'm too jaded and full of myself to appreciate someone as fresh as you."

Dove said nothing. He just stared at this. . . man, this man who looked down at him with a strange look in his eyes. In this moment he came to the realization, that life outside his little tower room was infinitely more complicated than he imagined it to be. Humans were like a large puzzle, that Dove thought he could never hope to understand. And he said nothing, when Lancelot took his hand and led him back through the complex, to their room, he said nothing when Lancelot gently pulled off his clothes, and wiped the rain and tears carefully away from his face. He didn't want to do anything at all, to ruin the moment, this moment in which he could actually pretend that Lancelot was his friend. Unfortunately, the combination of dampness and dust particles invaded his nostrils, and he broke the magic moment with a barrage of sneezes, the force of which left him breathless and sniffling, as if his life depended on it.

Lancelot chuckled softly and passed Dove a tissue, just staring at Dove as Dove blew his nose ever so carefully, avoiding staring directly at Lancelot. Lancelot sighed, and carefully tied the robe around Dove's waist, since Dove's naked body was beginning to affect him in ways that he knew shouldn't. "Listen, Dove. . . . I feel like such crap."

Dove cringed at the words. "Why? Is it because you have to share your bed with. . . with a homersexual? I'll sleep on the floor if you want me to."

Lancelot blinked a few times, trying to hold back his laughter, but he was unable to, letting out a warm chuckle. This was better. . . . he far preferred this feeling of being Dove's big brother than the one of wanting to take that robe of and. . . well. Better not to dwell on that. "It's hoMOsexual. And no Dove, you're not a homosexual. Though there would be nothing wrong with you if you were one. I would like you just the same. You and I are going to share this bed tonight all right?" He ruffled Dove's silky hair affectionately. Dove nodded his head, still a bit too wary to be happy, but glad he didn't have to sleep on that cold stone floor.

Lancelot sighed and pushed Dove back onto the bed, tucking him in, smiling down at him comfortingly. When he was offered this job as a sex slave, he thought that he would. . . well. . . get some sex. But he guessed he'd be babysitting more than he would be making love this time around. Ah well, still beats having to force himself to get erections for fat fifty year old women.

He took of his clothes. Usually he slept in the nude, but he didn't think it was appropriate this time around. . . so he left his pants on and slipped into bed, stiffly lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. He was aware of the warmth of Dove's skin, the indent he made on the mattress, and most of all, that scent, the fresh scent. . . he smelled so. . new. Not the way a baby smelled new, a cuddly bundle that smelled of baby powder and no tears shampoo, but like the freshness of a spring morning, of daisies, and grass moist with dew. He had to resist the urge to draw Dove closer to him, to inhale him deep into his lungs, nuzzle that fine red hair.

Unfortunately, Dove being oblivious to Lancelot's inner struggles, had turned over, pouty lips parting in a soft sigh, and wrapped a slender arm around Lancelot's waist, his head resting on Lancelot's chest. He smiled in his sleep, obviously luxuriating in the fact that for once, he didn't have to sleep alone. Those bad dreams that Tuttle had told him. . . no, screamed at him about over the phone. . . Lancelot hoped that Dove wasn't getting them anymore. Finally, he relaxed and pulled Dove closer to him, giving in to the temptation of kissing the top of his head and running his hand down the back of the bathrobe. This was something that brothers did for their younger brothers right? And Lancelot stayed awake, somehow feeling more peaceful than he ever had since his childhood, and he held Dove, keeping the nightmares at bay, protecting him through the night.