WARNING: This fanfic contains homosexual sex scenes. If you are homophobic, or are easily offended by the mentioning of certain appendages - and what can be done with and to them, I suggest you turn away now!

DISCLAIMER: With the exception of Robert's aunt and uncle, the characters and places in this fanfic are not mine! I assure you they will be returned to their rightful places in perfect condition - and I will have made no money from their adventures! This story is a work of fiction, and I acknowledge that I have taken uncountable liberties with the Beyblade plot and characters' personalities / sexual persuasions. In no way do I mean the characters, or their creators, any harm or disrespect; I write this purely to show my love for the anime in my own special way - nothing more, nothing less.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: To conform with this site's M-rated guidelines, I've had to cut some explicit scenes from this fic. You can find where I've got the uncensored version stored in its full glory on my profile.

~Knight of Passion~
By Level4Chaos

Part One

Claws locked together in a fierce battle; sharp beaks lashed out, biting and pecking, as giant glowing wings flapped in the confines of an otherwise dark alleyway.

The first thing he was aware of as he awoke was how sore his head was. It must have been quite a party last night... although he couldn't remember any of it. He was sure by the level of throbbing in his temples, that he and his fellow bladers must have had a great time celebrating Tyson's spectacular victory over Tala. He groaned in pain. The more awake he was, the more it seemed to hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

The second thing he noticed was the silky sheets enveloping his body and the mountain of rich, tapestry pillows around his head... the complete opposite of his own bed. He'd woken up in strange places with even stranger people in his arms before, but never anywhere quite like this.

A hotel room, perhaps? With expensive sheets like the ones that caressed his bare legs, it would have to be the penthouse suite, for sure. He didn't remember how he came to be in this place, and right now, it didn't matter. He snuggled up into the warmth and willed himself to go back to sleep.

No more tournaments meant no more training - for a little while anyway. So unless he got a phone call from Judy telling him to get his lazy butt down to the training room, he wasn't going anywhere. Sure, Trygle would probably be miffed, but he'd fix that with a couple of spectacular victories over the new students later. The bird was easy to please like that.

"Damn it..." He muttered, realising that if he didn't know where he himself was, chances were he had no idea where he had left Trygle either - and he could just imagine the type of fight he would get out of it if he didn't at least attempt to find it. Firstly though, he would be stumbling down to the hotel's nurse and getting a couple of PPB-approved headache tablets. Trygle had waited this long, it could wait another few minutes.

Michael stretched out his muscular arms, letting the bones within crackle with relief, and shakily propped himself up on his elbows. Looking around the room, he was even more confused than before. He was lying in a magnificent four-poster bed; hand-carved, by the look of it, out of fine cherry wood; the ornate poles ran up to a canopy, draped in plush red velvet at the corners and shimmering gossamer down the sides - which put the surrounding room in a dreamy soft-focus. No one Michael knew had tastes that expensive.

He blinked a couple of times, not only to take in the hazy room which seemed to be furnished with equally as fine matching pieces, but also to try and recall what exactly he had been drinking the previous night. It must have been good. Really good. And whatever it was, it was fast deciding to make itself known. He gave a violent cough, slapping his hands over his mouth to stop the desecration of the sheets pooled in his lap.

He laid back down, no longer caring about his location or Trygle's, but simply feeling terribly ill.
"Eddy, I swear, if this is your idea of a joke..."

But Eddy was across the ocean, back in America - and had been so for the past two weeks.

Presently he, Emily and Steven were anxiously awaiting Judy's report on Michael's condition. The blonde woman stood with her back to the three, with her cell phone pressed tightly to her ear.

"When will he be able to travel?" She asked, trying not to sound too concerned, but failing.
"He has not even regained consciousness. I should not imagine he will be well enough to travel for quite some time."
"That's unacceptable! I need him back here as soon as possible."
"I assure you, my personal physicians are doing everything they can for him."
"Obviously, they're not doing enough. The longer he is away from his training, the sloppier his game is going to be. He needs to get back here - and soon!"

The three remaining All Starz looked at each other, worried. When Judy wasn't talking to her son and his well-wishing friends in Asia, she was trying to get as much information as possible out of Sir Robert, who (since Michael was obviously not in any condition to make the trip from Russia to America) had kindly offered to have her star athlete whisked away to his German residence in his private jet, to be attended by his elite medical staff.

Michael had gone for a walk around Moscow alone, to check out the local sports grounds (and do a bit of showing off while he was there) before heading back home the next day. When he didn't return to the hotel that evening, Judy and the others had gone out looking for him.

Reports of screaming Bit Beasts in the back streets lead them to Michael's wounded and unconscious body. He had taken his thermal jacket off, presumably to battle, and he was covered in a light layer of snow - meaning he had been out there for quite some time. His clothes were battered and torn, and his bare skin was laced with strings of blood-crystals.

"Michael!" Judy ran to the boy, kneeling beside him and hugging him to her pounding heart. His breath was so shallow and his skin was like ice, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered. "Michael... don't you dare die on me."

Emily had been prepared enough to bring a blanket, just in case this very scenario occurred. She wrapped it around him, as Steven, being the strongest, lifted his captain's frozen form into his arms.

Judy narrowed her eyes at the wounds on the boy's face, arms and legs - deep claw marks. Could Trygle have turned on its master? Or was it something more sinister? He bore all the marks of an attack from the Demolition Boys and their ruthless Bit Beasts, but Trygle was still strangely present in his blade, so until he woke up, no one could be certain what had happened to him.

"Judy, I'm worried!" Emily was panicking. "We have to get him to a hospital!"
The blonde woman remained calm, despite her own panic inside. Having heard the horror stories of the Bladebreaker Ray's experience, the hospitals were over-crowded and immediate attention was almost unheard of. She ordered her team to return to the hotel and get Michael warm - there was very little else they could do for him until she could get in contact with the PPB and organise a private doctor.

As she picked up Michael's discarded jacket, cap, and Beyblade, she couldn't help wondering again if this had been all of Trygle's doing. What would have made her perfect eagle specimen do such a thing? She slipped the finned orange plastic into her pocket, planning to disassemble it and check its programming as soon as they got back to the research facility in America.

The other teams had heard about Michael's disappearance, and as the All Starz hurried back with him, they were accosted by several members of the Bladebreakers, White Tigers and Majestics - all wanting to know what they could do to help.

Nothing. No one knew what had happened to him, and no one knew how long he had been out in the snow for.

The Bladebreakers offered to call the hospital Ray had been staying at to see if they had any room; the White Tigers offered to put together a traditional herbal remedy; and it was then that the Majestic, Robert, had made the offer Judy accepted.

It had caused more problems than she had ever imagined it would. Robert was strict and stubborn. Everything he did was governed by an unwavering code of honour - and right now, that honour was keeping her star athlete across the other side of the world, and away from his training.

"With all due respect, my Lady, I do not think you understand the seriousness of his wounds."
"Are you saying I don't care about the well-being of my team?"
"I must go. Something has happened."
"What? Is it Michael? Don't hang up on me! Robert!"

There was no answer. Judy turned around, pocketing her phone and clasping her hands together.
"What's happening?" Emily practically yelled.
"I don't know..."
"He's going to be okay though, isn't he?"

"He's going to hate Robert, that's for sure." She muttered, giving no further information as she retreated back into her laboratory, leaving the All Starz no wiser for having listened to her side of the phone call.

Trygle's tests had all returned negative the previous week. There was nothing wrong with it... no reason why it would have attacked its master. The data was perfect; every line of code, flawless.

Judy was more than certain that Michael had regained consciousness, and Trygle needed to be with him. He needed to be with Trygle...