The penthouse was a three-day blackout. No one saw the "King" or his lamb leave the room. Every meal arrived via room service, left at the door like an offering to a reclusive god.

On the fourth day, Leon finally emerged. He marched through the lobby with a possessive stride, carrying a small, bundled-up Lucien in his arms. Lucien wore a surgical mask and a hoodie pulled low.

His eyes were puffy and red. The receptionist offered a sympathetic, lingering look. Poor boy, must be a terrible flu.

If Lucien had the strength to speak, he would have screamed. But his throat was a desert, his voice stolen by three days of pleading. Leon wasn't a man; he was a Doberman.

The mask wasn't for germs. It was to hide the distinct teeth marks Leon had left on his cheek. He wanted to slap the man, but he knew Leon would only catch his hand and lick his palm.

Leon opened the passenger door of the SUV. Lucien hissed and recoiled. The thought of sitting on the leather seat made his vision swim with phantom pain.

Leon didn't argue. He adjusted his grip and tucked Lucien into the back seat instead. He drove toward the suburbs, leaving the city static behind.

Lucien collapsed against the window, mentally cursing the "King" to the pits of hell. Leon drove with one hand, looking far too refreshed for a man who hadn't slept.

They reached the villa gates. Leon carried him across the threshold. The parrot—the one that had finally mastered a backflip—shrieked from its perch.

"Welcome! Love you! F*** you!" the bird screamed. Lucien's head snapped up, his expression deadpan.

Leon leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lucien's temple. "I'm stewing that bird for dinner, baby". "I'm stewing you," Lucien rasped, his voice a dry crackle.

Leon's mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk. "You can eat me whenever you want. I'm always on the menu". Lucien squeezed his eyes shut. Total animal.

Leon laid him on the master bed and produced a tube of cool, medicated ointment. "Flip over, baby. Time for the medicine".

Lucien's eyes went wide. He clutched the silk sheets with trembling fingers. "I... I can do it myself," he croaked.

"You can't see the target, Lucien. You'll miss a spot". Leon patted Lucien's hip, the threat clear in his steel-gray eyes. "Either you let me do it, or I'll assume you've still got energy for another round".

Lucien flipped over instantly, burying his face in the pillow. Leon's finger was methodical. Thanks to the "King's" relentless effort over the weekend, there was no resistance.

"Sleep for a bit," Leon murmured, kissing the shell of Lucien's ear. "I'm going to go make you something that won't hurt to swallow". Lucien didn't answer. He just let out a sharp, muffled huff.

Alone in the room, Lucien's adrenaline finally spiked. He reached for his phone. A hundred messages from Jamie—"Honey"—clogged his screen.

Where did you go? Did you fall into a pizza oven? Jamie's latest text read. Lucien typed back with shaky thumbs: Busy. Dating Leon.

Jamie replied with a wall of exclamation points. THE Leon? The Boxer? How's the, uh, situation? Is he a pro in bed too?.

Lucien scowled at the screen. He hit the voice-note button, his ego finally overriding his exhaustion. "Honestly? I didn't feel much. These Western guys are just... average".

He hit send. A cold draft hit the back of his neck. Lucien turned his head slowly. Leon was standing in the doorway, his expression completely blank.

Lucien ate dinner perched on Leon's lap.

Leon played the role of the devoted caregiver, claiming he didn't want Lucien to hurt his back by sitting on a hard chair. He blew on a spoonful of chicken congee before pressing it to Lucien's lips.

Lucien's eyes were bloodshot and damp. He couldn't even form words, his throat raw from the night before.

"Why the tears, baby?" Leon murmured, wiping a stray drop from Lucien's cheek. "You didn't seem to mind the sensation an hour ago."

"No..." Lucien gasped, his fingers clutching the edge of the dining table until his knuckles turned ghostly white. "I'm done. Please."

Leon offered a thin, dangerous smile. "Finish the bowl, and I'll let you go. Promise."

Lucien forced the last of the savory porridge down, his stomach feeling impossibly heavy. The second he set the spoon down, Leon's "gentle" mask shattered. He stood up, Lucien still in his arms, and pinned the boy flat against the table.

"You lied!" Lucien shrieked.

"I did," Leon hummed, his palm landing on Lucien's rear with a sharp thwack. "Deduct a point if you want. I'll just earn it back."

The next morning, Lucien sat in the lecture hall feeling like a ghost in a beanie. He had a hat pulled low and a scarf wrapped twice around his neck, looking like a very tired, very pale lamb.

Jamie—or "Honey" as they called each other—leaned over, squinting at him. "You look like you've been through a meat grinder. Bad night?"

"It's a long story," Lucien croaked.

"Lengthy, huh?" Jamie wiggled his eyebrows. "I bet."

Lucien recoiled as if the word length were a physical threat. "Don't. Just... I have an exam."

Despite the lack of sleep, Leon's "tutoring" sessions had been thorough. Lucien breezed through the economics paper, though he spent most of the time trying not to slide off his chair.

Lucien stumbled out of the building, yawning into his palm. His phone buzzed instantly.

"I'm here to pick you up," Leon's voice rumbled through the speaker.

"I'm eating with Jamie," Lucien lied, waving frantically at Jamie who was waiting by the fountain. "Don't come."

"Too late. Look up."

Leon's black SUV idled at the curb. The man stepped out, leaning against the door with a predatory grace that made the surrounding students stop and stare. Lucien tried to make a tactical retreat toward Jamie, but Leon was faster.

Leon scooped him up, ignoring Lucien's half-hearted kicks. "You never watch where you're going."

"You have training!" Lucien hissed, hiding his face in Leon's chest to avoid the gazes of his classmates.

"I wanted to see you for lunch. Jamie can come too."

Jamie, never one to pass up a free meal or a front-row seat to a disaster, hopped into the back seat. "There's this burger joint in the Warehouse District. Best bolognese fries in the city."

The neighborhood was a maze of neon signs and dive bars. Leon frowned at the sketchy surroundings but followed Lucien and Jamie into the restaurant.

"I've got this," Jamie announced, snapping his fingers. "I hit the jackpot at that lottery shop across the street yesterday. Two thousand bucks."

Lucien's eyes widened. "Two grand? That's incredible."

"Eat up, then we'll go back. Maybe you'll get lucky too."

Leon didn't eat. He sat across from them, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the way Lucien's lips moved around his burger. He adjusted Lucien's collar periodically, his touch possessive and lingering.

"Don't wait for me," Lucien muttered when they finished, noticing Leon checking his watch.

"I'm not leaving you in this neighborhood," Leon countered. "Go play your lottery. I'll be right here."

Ten minutes later, Lucien stood on the sidewalk next to Jamie, staring at a massive cardboard box at his feet. Jamie looked sheepish.

"I thought it was a sure thing," Jamie muttered.

Lucien looked up at Leon, who had just pulled the car around. "I won fifth prize. A year's supply of soap."

Leon looked at the box, then at Lucien's pouting face. He let out a low, vibrating chuckle as he began loading the crates into the trunk.

"It's fine, baby," Leon whispered, leaning down to catch Lucien's ear. "We'll just have to take more showers together to use it all up."

On the drive back, the humor faded. Leon's expression turned serious as he navigated through the city traffic.

"Break starts in a few days," Leon noted, his voice deceptively casual. "Have you started packing your dorm room?"

Lucien froze. "What?"

"You promised to stay at the villa with me for the holidays."

Lucien bit his lip. Staying at the villa meant being under Leon's roof 24/7. It meant no roommates, no escape, and a lot more "instructional" evenings.

"I... I might have a lot of projects," Lucien scrambled.

Leon glanced at him, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "You aren't planning on backing out, are you, baby?"

"No," Lucien squeaked, his voice an octave too high. "Of course not."

"Good," Leon said, his hand sliding across the center console to squeeze Lucien's knee. "Because I've already told the cook to prepare your favorites."