Saying that it's been a while would be an understatement. However, I hope to redeem myself and show my growth as a writer with this one. And of course, as always, I would love for you all to enjoy it!

Everything he said was funny at that point. Embarrassing recollections from grade school, falls from bikes, school functions. Everything was hilarious. Laugh Arthur laugh. The car's engine added to the rumble of their laughter. Arthur brought his hand up to rub the spots out of his eyes, but to no avail. The neon sign of the fast food restaurant began to blur. His head hit the window with an audible 'thunk'. He glanced sideways towards the driver's seat, searching for HIM.

"What's going on?" He was able to slur out. His mind was going fuzzy. Arthur's eyes landed on the man in the driver's seat. Was he smiling? Why was he- "Francis?" Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper. A hand reached out, pale in the glow of the neon sign, and ran its fingers through Arthur's messy golden locks.

Emerald eyes, heavily lidded, looked from the fluorescent hand to the blue eyes of the other man. "Good night Arthur." A voice, swimming in a French accent cooed. "Good night." The smile was the last thing Arthur saw before his world went black.

His hearing was the first of his senses he regained. Someone was moving about, their feet shuffling upon the floor. Arthur altered the position of his head a bit finding it a painful motion. He was lying face down upon something and whatever his face rubbed against was hard, rough, and cold. Concrete? The shuffling noise got closer and Arthur felt his arms being pulled behind his back and a certain constriction being placed upon them. He attempted to move his legs only to find himself unable to do so. Arthur slowly cracked open his eyes. There really wasn't much difference. Wherever he was, it was pitch black save for a small light source coming from behind him. Again Arthur moved his head to look in the direction of the light. It was at this point that he realized that he was completely nude.

Lidded eyes went wide at this realization. Arthur's eyes darted around attempting to make sense of the situation.

"Are you awake now Arthur?" The same French accent-coated voice questioned. Arthur mildly registered that his whole body began shaking.

"Francis, what-"Was all Arthur could croak out before a pair of foreign lips covered his own. Arthur tried desperately to pull away only to have cold hands press against his cheeks (enough to feel his cheekbones creak in protest) to hold him in place. The other man's tongue forced its way into Arthur's mouth and, try as Arthur might, he could not force it out. When the kiss was broken Arthur gasped sharply and stared wide eyed at Francis.

"Don't look at me that way Arthur." Francis chided after tsking lightly. "It's your fault for seducing me with those eyes of yours and that English accent. How vile of you." Francis sighed and grabbed the source of light which happened to be a small flashlight. He held it over what appeared to be a duffel bag and began rummaging through it. The flashlight shone on Francis's bare chest.

Arthur attempted to squirm away only to discover that his muscles were not functioning correctly. He was unable to move his arms and legs, and no matter what he did he could not move an inch from his position. "Francis, wait! Don't do this! If this is about your confession…I-I can learn to! If you give me some time I can learn to love you, I promise! Please, just don't do this!" Arthur pleaded, his green eyes wide with fear.

Francis, who seemed to find what he was searching for, crawled back over to Arthur who continued to plead. "Francis please!" Arthur screamed. Francis shed the rest of his clothing and unscrewed the top off the bottle that he retrieved from the bag. Francis who was now utterly bare poured some of the contents of the bottle onto his palm. He then ran his head over his now evident arousal. Arthur looked back, galvanized and terrified. He couldn't be serious, could he? "Francis just give me time!" Arthur yelled, pleading once more with Francis to reconsider.

Francis smirked as he hovered over Arthur and jerked Arthur's hips forward so that he was prostrated before him. "But why, mon petit lapin, would I wait when I can make you love me now?" With that Francis thrust into Arthur harshly. Arthur let out a blood curling shriek. Grabbing the flashlight, Francis shone it on Arthur's tear stained face. "Arthur~ Be a dear and tell me you love me." Francis cooed. Arthur bit his lip, closed his eyes, and stayed quiet aside from the whimpers. "Arthur." Francis called firmly, thrusting particularly hard and causing Arthur's eyes to shoot open in pain.

"I-I Love You!" Arthur sobbed out. Why? Why was this happening?

"Good. I don't need to hear anything else." Francis grabbed two objects from the pocket of his pants which laid to his right. One of the objects, duct tape, he took and wrapped it around Arthur's mouth. He then took a cloth and made Arthur blind to the world.

The duct tape muffled Arthur's cry of shock when Francis resumed his harsh thrusting. Tears slipped down raw cheeks from behind the cloth. In, out, in, out, in, out; the torture took on a vicious rhythm. Francis was thrusting into him at such an animalistic pace, letting out disgusting grunts of pleasure. Arthur was relatively quiet now, having given up fighting and the idea of someone saving him. Silent, salty tears created a continuous stream down his red cheeks. He was sure that his inner muscle were torn and bleeding there. The pain that shot up his spine made him want to vomit. And then with one final thrust, it was over. Francis spilled himself inside Arthur, burning Arthur's abused insides. A terribly cold hand wrapped around Arthur's, Arthur himself now realized, arousal and he was stroked to completion. Disgust rose like bile within him. His body had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Francis pulled out and lifted his hands from Arthur's hips which had left bruises from the pressure exerted. Arthur could vaguely hear more shuffling sounds. The sounds of Francis pulling his clothes on Arthur guessed numbly. Arthur fell on his side, too weak to adjust his position.

Suddenly, Arthur felt something soft and slightly heavy fall on top of him. The ropes that bound his arms and legs were cut. "Get dressed Arthur. I doubt you want to stay here overnight. Bon nuit." Francis walked away. His footsteps got fainter and fainter. The sound of a door opening, the sound of that same door closing, the sound of feet on gravel, the sound of a car door opening then closing, the sound of an engine starting, and the sound of a car driving away.

Arthur weakly removed the duct tape and the cloth. Eyes straining, he slowly pulled on his clothing, his muscles stiff from the abuse and whatever Francis had slipped him. As he was tying the shoelaces of his sneakers Arthur looked to his side and noticed the dim light of the flashlight. Francis had left it. 'How generous' Arthur thought monotonously. He grabbed the flashlight and shakily stood up as a sharp pain shot up his spine. He shone the flashlight around attempting to remember in what direction Francis's footsteps had receded in. The light landed on a rat which squeaked and scampered away. Arthur had to fight to keep the vomit down.

At last the light landed on a door. Arthur sighed and limped towards it. He slowly extended his arm, his hand resting on the cool metal for a moment before pushing the door open. He was greeted by the glare of some scattered streetlamps. Arthur shielded his eyes with his arm and proceeded down the steps leading from the door. He turned around to look at the building. There were steel, bold letters on it that spelled, 'Bonnefoy Co.' Bonnefoy. Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur grimaced. How bloody fitting. Not only an abandoned warehouse but a Bonnefoy abandoned Warehouse. What a cliché. "I remember this place now. This is the Bonnefoy warehouse on Watson Terrace." Arthur muttered. "I don't live too far from here." Arthur threw the flashlight over the railing lining the stairs and limped down the rest of them. When he had gotten to one of the streetlamps it became clear what a mess he was. His hair was much messier than usual, his green eyes were dull and bloodshot, his lips were swollen, his cheeks were a splotchy red, and a large crimson spot stained the seat of his pants. Noticing this, Arthur tied the green sweater he had been wearing around his waist. He decided that the hot sticky blood running down his thighs would have to wait.

He continued walking, barely noticing the lefts and rights he was taking. Cars zoomed by and a few stragglers of the night stood against a fence smoking, broadcasting their "Fuck Society" attitude. Within twenty minutes of autopilot navigation Arthur made it back to his family's house. He made his way to the back to the servant's entrance. Arthur opened the door (unlocked, someone was up waiting) and stepped through the pantry into the fully updated kitchen after closing and locking the door behind him. The house was still and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He'd have been surprised if his parents had stayed up worrying about him. Arthur walked out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the foyer. He got to the second step of the winding, marble staircase leading to the second floor when he heard small, quiet footsteps and an even quieter voice.

"Young master Arthur?" A feathery, English accented, female voice called. "Is that you?" At this point Arthur was thankful that the hall was only dimly lit (not to mention that the blood had dried and caked to his skin and pants so that no trail was left).

Arthur turned around slowly and met the hazel eyes of the head mad, Ophelia. Her auburn hair was in mild disarray and she had haphazardly thrown a shawl around her shoulders over her pajamas. "Hello Ophelia. Did I wake you?" Arthur greeted, keeping his voice level.

"Where have you been?!" Ophelia questioned in hushed urgency, rushing up to Arthur and gathering him in her arms with maternal concern. "We were all so worried!"

"Excluding my parents of course." Arthur added dryly. Ophelia pursed her lips. Before she could reply Arthur said, "Ophelia I'm terribly tired. I'm going to bed. Good night." Arthur hugged her lightly (awkwardly) and then ascended the remaining steps, shuffling to his bedroom door.

He stepped into his room, recognized his king sized bed and his sapphire bed spread, and finally felt that he had arrived home. Arthur slowly made his way to his personal bathroom, kicking off his sneakers on the way there. Absentmindedly flicking on the lights, he looked around. The gaudy white and peach tiles (his stepmother's brilliant décor idea) stared back at him. Arthur made his way toward the shower and turned the water on full blast. Shedding his clothing (peeling his pants off of his bloody legs) he stepped into the shower under the warm water as swirls of red mixed with it on the floor of the shower. The warmth felt comforting on Arthur's injuries and for a moment he almost forgot what had happened to him. Almost.

Memories of the last few hours suddenly bombarded Arthur's mind. He smacked his hands over his ears and sunk to the floor of the shower. Arthur wove his fingers into his hair and pulled at it as tears gushed from his closed eyes. Again and again the sight of Francis's leering face replayed in Arthur's mind, like a broken record.

Arthur popped up covered in a cold sweat. He ran a hand through his sweaty locks and slid uneasily out of his bed. It had been the same nightmare every night since three months ago, during that hot June evening. Yet it still frightened him as much as if it had happened yesterday. He dragged himself to his bathroom and flicked on the light, his eyes narrowing as they were burned by the sudden blast of brightness. Arthur shuffled over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face, trying to rinse away the horrid nightmare. He looked into the mirror and found himself disgusted with his image. He had dark circles under his eyes making it appear as if he hadn't slept well in months, which was true but it didn't look good. Arthur closed the faucet and turned off the light. He returned to his bed and brought the covers up to his head. He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, pictures of that smirk still in his head.

Looking back on it now, I realize that if someone had told me a week before…THAT time, that he would do that, I would never have believed them. Sure he was always a perverted git but he was also my best friend. Isn't it funny how it's always the people you trust the most? The people you admire the most; the people you've been through THE MOST with? He told me he loved me. Expressed his completely devoted undying love for me…And I turned him down. I said we were such good friends and I couldn't see him like that. I was scared when he asked me to meet him. Thought that I hurt him and going to get a milkshake would be too bloody awkward. But I went. And maybe what followed that was my fault after all. 'I can't ever see you that way'? That was much too cruel. But when we were in the car, I was truly happy. Happy to find he didn't hate me. Happy that everything was fine and funny before what came next.