little french boy. ➵ lashton ✔

sept.

Luke looked up at Ashton, his blue eyes wide and frightened in his careful grip.

Ashton lifted Luke up and Luke squirmed a bit, still afraid of him.

"Je suis désolé, monsieur Ashton."

Ashton looked down at Luke, whose apology sounded sincere. He set Luke down on his throne, allowing Luke to curl up and look him in the eyes.

Ashton had to admit, Luke looked like a proper king. Gently, Ashton traced his fingers over Luke's bruised cheek and watched as the long eyelashes shrouded the blue in his eyes.

Ashton leaned up and pressed his lips gently to Luke's, startling the French boy.

Everything about Ashton was gentle as Luke sat on his throne, but all Luke could think about was the riding crop and Ashton swearing at him and the pain and the tears.

//

Luke and Ashton were practically attached at the hip from then on, Ashton always had a hand on him or around him.

Luke was less afraid of Ashton, falling in to his arms every night and telling him how much he loved him.

However, Luke had been seeing less and less of Clarissa. He had already half-acknowledged that Ashton could not focus on the kingdom and love at the same time, and Luke knew he had to be that other half to save the kingdom for good.

"Luke!" Ashton called, making the boy's head snap around.

"Oui, monsieur?"

Luke had been watering the flowers, a new favorite pastime of his, in their garden as Ashton had been sitting in the porchswing and reading a book.

Ashton beckoned Luke forward, and Luke walked until he reached the somewhat shorter boy sitting on the swing.

Luke sat down next to him and pulled in his long legs.

"Look," Ashton pointed to a word on the page, and Luke squinted.

"Luke!"

Ashton smiled, nodding.

"Oui, that's your name."

"Que fait-il là-dedans? Ce est mon nom."

Ashton laughed, shaking his head from side to side.

"No, chaton, there are lots of people with your name."

Luke's face fell, as if he thought that he were the only Luke in the entire world. Ashton found it queer, but tried to comfort him anyhow.

"Come along, chaton, we can go inside now."

//

Ashton and Luke tangled up together in Ashton's bed, warm and comfortable within each other's embraces.

"Monsieur Ashton?" Luke asked quietly, fingers folding in and out of Ashton's perfectly hydrated curls.

"Yes, chaton?"

"Lorsque je ai la permission de retourner chez le duc?"

Ashton's blood boiled. Luke still thought of the Duke's castle as his home, how?

"You will not be going back." Ashton growled, though he knew Luke didn't understand. Ashton was growing envious, envious of the Duke for stealing away his beautiful French boy's heart and making it home to him and-..

Luke set a trembling hand to Ashton's bicep.

"Arrêtez," he whimpered.

Ashton cupped Luke's cheeks. He hated that he couldn't be a king and a lover. Suddenly, he took Luke's hand and pulled him out of their bed, a strong shiver visibly quaking through Luke's cold body.

Ashton lead them down corridors and again to the throne room. He threw the long, red cape around Luke's neck, and Luke looked at his arms in curiosity.

A heavy crown dangled upon Luke's head and a long, decorative staff was placed in his hand.

"Que faites-vous?" Luke asked, a fond smile on his face although Ashton had severe pain and conflict in his own.

"Something I need to do," Ashton said. Luke tilted his head to the side, and stood up from the throne as Ashton kicked one of the tall glass windows, shattering it.

"Arrêtez!" Luke screamed, rushing forward to grab Ashton's arm before he could fall.

"What are you doing, chaton, can't you see? They all love you!"

Luke shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he used all of his limited strength to keep Ashton from jumping.

Then he made the mistake of setting his hand on the floor, covered in broken glass.

He sobbed out in pain and begged for Ashton to stay here and stay with him.

"Vous ne avez pas à aller, je peux faire!"

Ashton stopped his struggling and watched as Luke fell to the ground in a sobbing, bleeding heap, Ashton's red cape covering his face.

Ashton kicked the glass away from around the boy and lifted him up, carrying him to the kitchen.

The little French boy whimpered like a kicked puppy, big, watery blue eyes staring up at the ashamed king.

He let out silent screams as Ashton had George, apparently a trained doctor, pick out the large and small shards of glass with a pair of makeshift tweezers.

"This may hurt," George mumbled in French as he poured some rubbing alcohol on to a cloth and pressed it against Luke's hand.

Watching the procedure, Ashton knew somehow that this occurrence would haunt Luke's nightmares for days on end.

//

we're actually nearing the end mon amis