Been working on this for a little while, and I suppose it's finally come together properly. Most of you, practically all of you, are not going to know the fandom. I don't expect you to read it. I did it for myself more than anything. To finish up something I started years ago.

This is the next and probably last in line of the Spectator Series, my 13x6 series that was left... unsettled. This one's probably not as vague and subtle as the others, but, admittedly, I'm out of practice.

A great deal of on-my-knees-in-adoring-appreciation goes to mrkinch who helped me immensely and beta'd and everything. Also to wystii for her suggestions. To ederyn for archiving me! To paikan for not only archiving me when I was quite homeless, but being a beacon in the fandom that always kept me coming back. And the same to hopeofdawn, whose Otto+Zechs has not only kept me clinging to the fringes of the fandom, but sparked the fire under my ass to write again. And Telari, who wouldn't let me forget, whether that was her intention or not.

Anyway...


by Reverand Maynard

Fandom/Pairing: Gundam Wing; 13+6 (a touch of 6+2, 1+2); SS

Notes: Set mid-year A.C. 198; references, of course, the other SS fic, as well as And Hope.

SS: Into The Light

Duo Maxwell spotted Zechs at the opposite end of the hall, stepping out of his office, Preventers uniform snug on his hips, jacket hanging from his shoulders just so. Of course, Duo had the particulars of Zechs's body, his stride, memorized, but he never tired of seeing it first hand. God, this was going to suck.

He whistled as he walked, swinging a packet of documents, looking nonchalant as he approached Zechs, strutting, really, though he knew how pointless that was. Still, he flagged Zechs down, pulled him into an alcove, a large window that overlooked the river. He had made out with a mail boy there once, but he was pretty sure Zechs wouldn't be up for the activity.

The papers he held, the ones he'd used to lure Zechs aside, should have been a cracked secret code, or a list of possible suspects for some case or another, but turned out to be-

"Bank statements," he told Zechs, standing near him and pointing to a name in the corner of the documents. He could smell the other man from this small distance, little more than fresh linen and soap, but there was always something about the scent of Zechs that put Duo in mind of an MS cockpit. As if the smell still clung to him, reluctant to be washed away. Duo could certainly understand that.

"But... these are--" Zechs began. So clueless, poor thing.

"Une's. Right-o, guy. I can't get nothing past your sharp eye." He pointed out specific numbers, blabbering in a hushed voice about, "friggin' huge transfers" and large checks made out to cash. Zechs listened, then tilted his head, thinking. His long, blond hair hung over one shoulder, and his cold gaze regarded Duo with an impassiveness that never failed to impress.

"Maxwell, I really do not see where this is any of my concern, nor that of the Preventers, nor that it is legally or morally acceptable to be nosing through your superior's personal assets."

Duo yanked the papers away from Zechs. "Don't give me that moral high ground crap, Zechs..." And it was on the tip of his tongue, some dark comment about men who tried to destroy the world, but he passed up the opportunity. "And we have every right to know if Une is doin' crazy shit on the side. One of her other personalities could be a criminal or somethin'--"

"She's fine now, Maxwell."

"...armed robbery, money laundering, hate crimes ..."

"Maxwell."

"...arms deals, political upheaval, industrial sabotage..." he took a breath and handed the papers back to Zechs, hesitated, then thought: 'Fuck it.' "...harboring one-time megalomaniac warmongers..."

That was it. He saw the change in Zechs's expression plain as day. Disbelief and hope, masked by a pathetically thin attempt at indifference. Duo hated being a good guy.

"What are you saying?" Zechs asked, and Duo took the opportunity to move closer to Zechs, much closer. Zechs was breathing heavier, and it took more concentration to continue than Duo though it should have, particularly for a speech he had rehearsed. He began pointing at numbers again, checks for large amounts highlighted in green.

"These are the ones made to cash. These," he pointed to a few highlighted in orange, "are all made out to a small private hospital, in the exact amounts as many of these transfers days before." Those amounts were blue.

Zechs shook his head, "No. Perhaps she's ill. We have no right to assume--"

"Alright, big guy, cut the shit and listen to me, all right? I've done my homework. She's clean as a whistle except for that squirrelly noggin of hers. And this hospital's a little out of the way for a..." he scanned the sheets and chose a number at random, "$76,000 mammogram."

Zechs blanched. "Out of the way?"

Duo grinned his widest though he felt like shit, flipped through a few more pages, and pointed to a word scrawled and circled in blue ink, hoping that would be enough.

"Sanq."

+

Zechs found it about thirty miles outside the already quiet streets of suburban Sanq. In the hills, the beautiful forests for which Sanq was famous, not far from where he had been born, where a part of him had died long before any battle. It was a small house, or it seemed that way to Zechs. It was certainly no Oz official's mansion. Part stone, part wood, roses in a garden under the windows. An enormous oak shaded one whole side, the grounds obviously kept, though due for attention as wildflowers dotted the lawn. The early evening light bathed the scene in amber.

It didn't exactly surprise Zechs to find that Treize might still be alive. Some part of him had never doubted Treize's ability to return from the dead. He'd done more impossible things. And another, much smaller part of him had never stopped believing the winter-pink promise of a fourteen year-old boy. But he had made a morbid sort of peace with the loss. And now....

Of course he didn't really know that Treize was alive. He had not seen him yet. No car. No signs of life beyond the botanical sort. He could leave. He could tell himself that Treize was doing well in the hills of Sanq. Well without him. Or better, that Treize was still dead, and the other part of himself, that was still dead, too.

And it was that thought, that cowardice, that finally made him open the door of his vehicle and step out. He made his way up a dirt path and to the front door, his heart thrumming in his ears, his Preventers uniform too warm. He should have changed. He'd left straight from work. He should be angry, shouldn't he? He shouldn't have come. Oh God, what if he's really alive?

A hollow knock on a heavy oak door and Zechs knew no one was home. But he waited. He waited long. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, he wasn't sure, but he did not knock again. The roses were thriving in the gentle May weather, and the smell was overwhelming as he waited. It grew darker as he stood there, listening for any sound from inside the house until finally, mournfully, he turned from the door.

"Giving up so soon?"

Zechs started, and his breath caught in his throat, but he schooled his response and stood straight to seek out the familiar voice from the darkness beneath the oak. His dry mouth could form no reply.

"I didn't surprise you, did I? I didn't think you'd have lost your keen senses so soon." Now the voice had a body, and it ducked under a branch and came from beneath the tree. He wore blue jeans, canvas shoes, and a dark sweater despite the warm evening. Behind him Zechs could see a whitewashed wooden swing still swaying.

"Treize?"

The other man walked slowly, a noticeable limp marring what was once a graceful stride. Despite that, and though Zechs could not see his face clearly, either for the twilight or another darkness that didn't seem to have anything to do with the time of day, he knew he was right.

"Are you armed?" Treize asked, and it seemed like such an absurd question that Zechs was dumb for a moment, then looked down at the butt of his issue sidearm peaking curiously from beneath his jacket.

His answer was quiet, "Yes."

"Is it for me?"

Zechs felt his stomach flip. "No."

An astonishing thing happened then, and Zechs recognized Treize's charming white smile even in the half-light. "Well that's certainly a relief. Are you coming in?"

The house was larger than it appeared from the outside, and more richly furnished than one might expect. Treize led them through a dark hall and into a sitting room with low light. He suggested Zechs have a seat and offered tea. Zechs felt certain he had declined the offer, but Treize was soon off into an adjoining room, a kitchen it seemed, as he made all the familiar noises of tea-making. Treize spoke to him as he worked.

"Une told me you were coming. Says you practically beat it out of her, poor girl." Something made an especially loud racket in the kitchen. "I always thought someone would get suspicious of the transfers--still just honey?" The kitchen was quiet. Zechs, too. "Yes, of course. Was it Maxwell, then? He always did have the longest nose... sharpest wit. Persistent little devil."

By now Zechs was in the open door of the kitchen, not willing to sit and wait. Treize stood at a kitchen sink, facing away, a kettle on the stove near him, both hands on the counter and his head hung low. Zechs recognized the tension in his shoulders, but the voice continued coolly.

"To be honest I thought you'd come to kill me, " a mirthless laugh, "but then you always... always did--" he stopped as Zechs's hands found him, encircled him, and Zechs pressed his forehead against the other man's neck, "...surprise me," he finished, and Zechs felt him shake with a quiet sadness.

"Treize," Zechs managed despite the tightness in his throat, and Treize turned to face him, tearful. He'd grown a beard that Zechs hadn't noticed until then.

"I'm sorry, Milliard," Treize said, still looking down, only down. He had made no move to touch Zechs, so Zechs leaned in and held him. Only then did Treize return the embrace, lightly at first, tentatively, then harder, more desperate, and buried his face in Zechs's neck, his whiskers tickling, scratching. Zechs didn't mind.

They stood like that for some time. It reminded Zechs of an embrace that felt a thousands years behind him, a General's office, gloveless hands holding a still-whole mask, but the mask was broken now, and it seemed the General, too.

Someone began to whistle, then scream, but it was only the kettle and Treize pulled away, not bothering to wipe his eyes before attending to the tea. He gestured to a set of chairs around a small table. "Please, sit... forgive me." Zechs sat obediently, and watched Treize. It seemed a strange ritual he was performing, holding the kettle just so, reaching for the cups by instinct rather than real attentiveness.

"You grew a beard," Zechs said, though that was the farthest thing from his mind.

"Yes," Treize replied and sniffed, the only sign that everything was not perfectly all right. "Do you like it? Une says it makes me look, ah... stately, I believe." The tea was finished and he brought a tray to the table, eyes averted from Zechs, and sat opposite him. "I'd like to think I looked rather stately before... before."

'No one more so,' Zechs did not say.

"But it seems it's necessary," he added, then pulled at the collar of his shirt, tilting his head a bit to the side. The light here was brighter than in the sitting room, and Zechs could see an odd mark, a scar it seemed, that began somewhere below Treize's collar, continuing up his neck and along his jaw, where it disappeared gradually beneath the reddish scruff of his beard. "I'm told this is quite ghastly when clean-shaven. The stuff of children's nightmares. Those colony nurses are rather tactless, you know."

"Told?" Zechs asked.

Treize picked up a small container of milk to pour in his tea... and missed. He deftly soaked up the small spill with a napkin and tried again, this time with two hands, one on his cup, one on the container.

"Treize..." But Treize seemed intent on ignoring him, or concentrating on his tea. "Treize look at me." And he did. Zechs saw the same cornflower blue gaze he remembered. Not as charmed as the General's, perhaps, nor as quiet as the child's, but the same. He moved, slightly to the right, and when Treize's eyes followed him, almost defiantly, he felt foolish.

"I'm..." he began, unsure of what to say, "I'm sorry, I thought... I'm sorry."

Now that Treize watched him he seemed unwilling to look away. "She didn't tell you, did she?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, at least I know you didn't come out of pity, that your lack of murderous rage is not altogether an effect of knowing that you would challenge an unworthy adversary. Perhaps you really don't want to see me hang."

"Treize, I don't..."

"I'm blind, Zechs. Partially. Almost entirely, truth be told. The limited vision I have was only restored a few months ago. I cannot say I am entirely adjusted as yet." Finally he looked down, back at his tea. "I'm usually quite dexterous, considering, but when I am stressed I seem to fumble." He smiled a little. "And I admit your appearance has not left me entirely at ease."

Zechs felt sick, but the first words that came to him he would not say. Treize did not want his pity, or pointless apologies.

"Nothing can change it, Zechs. I am quite happy with seeing at all, trust me." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and Zechs saw the General for just a moment sitting across from him, calculating, commanding. Then it was gone. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it." He poured a little honey into Zechs's tea easily. "Tell me something about you now. Enough of my surprises. Give me one of your own."

"I haven't..." Zechs thought. "Treize, how? How did you survive?"

Treize smiled. "You always had a one-track mind, didn't you? But there's nothing to tell. I was found near death in my suit, much as you were, I'm sure. Only I was transported to a colony, hidden away during a protracted and complicated recovery, hindered by my own loss of will. After all, I had no reason to fight anymore."

"No? And I did?"

"You always have. I knew you would." His eyes were trained on his tea and Zechs found a very old feeling creeping into his consciousness, one he thought he had suppressed with the grief long ago. A spark in the stillness.

"You surprise me, Treize. Everyone else seemed to think I had nothing to live for. I heard them say it when they thought I was sleeping."

Treize smiled, "No doubt it was that assumption that made you want to wake and defy them?"

"Nothing left to lose, no one left to save."

"Surely there must have been something, Zechs. You didn't point that battleship at the earth because you were feeling abandoned."

"You broke your promise!" Zechs's fist hit the table, tea splashed and the cup toppled then rolled, landing with a delicate crash on the linoleum.

Treize held his smile, watching him as if he held a secret Zechs could never understand or know, "There he is. That's my Milliard."

"Please, Treize, no games. I don't... I can't play them." He felt hot tears now. It had been so long. So long.

"I am sorry," Treize said, and indeed he looked repentant, "but I didn't break my promise." He held out his hands, "I'm here. I'm alive. Perhaps not whole or hale, but breathing still."

"But you left me." Zechs felt himself crumbling, breaking like the teacup, grief spilling out. "I hated you for that. I hated you and I hated myself for not hating you as much as I should have."

"Vengeance, Zechs. It's what you've always lived for."

"Not vengeance. I couldn't avenge you any more than I could kill you. You were already dead. But I'd lost you before that, hadn't I?"

Treize was quiet for a moment; he seemed unwilling to answer. "I am sorry for that, Zechs."

"I knew you were lying," Zechs felt his fist clench, then release, and again. He was calmer now, though his temper did not fade, merely ebbed. " I knew you didn't want me dead. But I couldn't understand why you would push me away."

"I think perhaps I overestimated my ability to manipulate there..."

"Underestimated."

"Yes.. I never expected..."

"That I'd go mad? No. Neither did I. It's not something one predicts. But the rest of it, your scheme, it worked well enough, didn't it?"

"That was not my doing."

"Everything was your doing Treize, whether by proxy or under the precise attention of your own hands. Everything. Even in death your legacy continues to stir trouble now and then."

Treize swallowed hard, and no longer looked at Zechs. "Old loyalties, you mean?"

"Not quite."

"Yes," He fingered a cloth napkin, not distracted, but obviously wishing he was. "Une has told me very little. Claims it is for my own good. I've... I heard her on television once, a year after the Eve Wars... that incident...." He looked at Zechs, eyes shining wet, "I met her once, you know?"

"Mariemeia? How?"

"That's not... not really important." He looked away, stood, so that Zechs stared at nothing but an empty chair, "Not now."

"Treize, you can still--"

"Zechs, please... not now," he leaned against the counter again, then against the door frame, then he walked into the other room. "One reunion at a time, thank you."

+

Duo sat at his desk. It was something he did not do often, even his "research" usually found him sitting at other people's desks, rifling through other people's paperwork. In fact, no one seemed to give him paperwork, they must have known better. His desk was a clutter of photographs and odd trinkets, a barely used laptop in the center, and he played idly with a Rubix Sphere, a toy similar to its cubic cousin, only round. He wasn't even sure he knew the object of the game anymore.

His mind wasn't on that anyway, but that bastard Zechs. Why did the man have to be so dense? The whole department had suspected Une for months. Even Heero paid enough attention to know something was up. Goddamn Zechs. Idiot bastard. Why'd he have to ignore all the signs, make Duo point it out to him? It was the last thing he'd wanted to do, really, re-unite that displaced prince with his egomaniacal ex-lover. But what else could he do? He couldn't stand the blank stares anymore, the too-quiet investigations. The man did his job and even managed to attend a social gathering now and then. But he was hollow. Duo knew that. 6 feet and 2 perfect inches of nobody home. Even the anger, the sadness had passed. At least that had been something.

He'd kissed him once. Tried to get a rise out him, literally, Duo thought and smiled. Christmas, two whole fucking years after Eve Wars. Still too soon, it seemed. He'd tasted Zechs's wrath that night, then his passion, then his lips. God, that was a memory he never wanted to forget. And it wasn't long after that when the ice around Zechs had sealed completely. They'd never talked about that kiss. Duo had always wondered what he could have done differently to have made it more than just that, but that was all irrelevant now. Stupid bastard. What did he see in that overblown aristocratic asshole anyway?

"Something on your mind?" The question came from the doorway where Heero regarded him around a cracked door.

"What makes you say that?" Duo asked, and when Heero looked down at Duo's hands, Duo followed the gaze and found that at some point he'd given up playing with the toy and began wrapping it in tape instead. "Er, well... yeah, actually." He grinned and threw down the ball. Fucking Zechs. Hopelessly infatuated, that one. But then he'd known that all along. Like recognized like, he supposed.

"Take me to dinner, Heero," he said, stretching theatrically, "I'm starved."

"Where to?"

Duo looked suspicious, "What, no twenty minutes of refusal while I berate you with my witty monologue on why I deserve your undivided attention over a square meal?"

"Not today." Heero held the door and locked it behind him as Duo grabbed his jacket and flipped off the lights.

"Well I won't argue then, 'cause today I really do deserve it."

"Why's that?" Heero wondered, handing Duo the keys to his car as they walked through the empty halls, another argument avoided and now Duo was really suspicious.

"'Cause I did a good deed today... but why do I get the feeling you already know that?"

"How would I know what you get up to, Duo?" This was delivered with a rare and secret smile.

"How indeed, Mr. Yuy. So what the fuck else do you know?"

They were in the elevator now, strange music tinkling overhead. "I know that earlier today the only man I know more persistent than I am gave up on something he's been chasing after for a long time." Duo colored at that. "And that you do, in fact, deserve dinner and my undivided attention." He pressed the button for the garage level. "And maybe dessert."

+

Zechs thought Treize was trying to avoid him, and for an instant he considered leaving the man in peace. But he followed Treize through the sitting room to the mouth of a dark hall where he disappeared, and Zechs could see nothing beyond. He waited. Small noises came from the darkness but no light, until finally a doorway was lit and seconds later Treize walked out of it, something glinting in his hand. He brushed past Zechs and motioned for him to come nearer to the light.

"I have something for you."

A lamp low on a table lit the thing Treize held. It was painted metal, and broken, and when he took it from Treize he knew it's heft, the cold weight of it. He turned the mask so that the one remaining hollow eye regarded him.

"I got that from someone on a sweeper crew, only a week after my memory began to return--"

Zechs looked up, "Your memory?"

A quiet laugh, "She really didn't tell you anything, did she?" Treize shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable, either with the subject or with standing. "I could have built a Taurus for what he charged me, but I knew I'd have to hand it to you one day."

Zechs stared at his mask, turning it in his hands. Treize had handed it to him once before. Whole. Something about loyalties. He remembered, and felt that spark again, something hotter, more lingering besides. The metal felt acidic under his naked fingers. How many years had he hidden behind it, he couldn't remember. "How long would you have waited Treize? How long have you waited?"

"And what would you have done, Milliard, had I called you one sleepy Sunday afternoon, had I--" He's stopped himself, "Can we sit, please. I can't--"

"No." Zechs dropped the mask and it hit the floor with a heavy clang that seemed louder than it should have been. He held Treize by the arms and pushed him back, away from the light, the once slow burn swelling inside him. Treize tripped over something and stumbled backwards, caught by the wall and held up by Zechs's grip.

"Zechs, damn you!"

"You already have!" Zechs shouted, still pushing despite the wall. "Now tell me Treize, how long? One answer straight, General, I won't listen to your diplomatic reasoning. Every moment you spent in recovery with your flowers and your swings and your tea, purchasing souvenirs and making plans-- making plans! God damn, you Treize. I haven't had thoughts of the future past the hour in years. You were dead for how long? A few months of amnesia, maybe, a few years of darkness. But I was dead long before-- Look at me!"

Treize's face was pained, Zechs could see that even in the darkness, but Treize refused his gaze, looking past him. "I can't." He was not angry, but sad it seemed, and he continued to search for Zechs's face, "You've pushed me too far from the light." He gave up then and simply shut his eyes. Zechs could see the tears that ran from them and felt ashamed. He had every right to be angry, but that wasn't why he had come. "I wanted to tell you, Milliard. I wanted to see you..." The tension in Treize's body was gone, Zechs felt the moment he went limp, defeated. And they slid down together, onto their knees, this seemed painful for Treize, or something more caused the quiet sobbing, "You have to know that. Please believe me."

"I'm sorry, Treize, have I hurt you?" But Treize could only repeat himself.

"Please believe me, Milliard. Please..."

"I do, Treize," Zechs said, hands soothing where they were once rough, "I believe you." And Zechs bent to hold his face, to stroke the strange new beard that he thought he could grow to like. Treize seemed to calm. Their kiss was soft, despite Treize's bristled lips. Zechs brushed them with his own, then again, until Treize seemed to understand and returned the gesture, until they held one another close. There was none of the arrogant General in that kiss, none of the deception Zechs had tasted once. It was salty but only because of the other man's tears. And probably his own.

"I suppose I was mad then, too," Treize began softly after they parted, suddenly eager to speak, looking at nothing.

"When, Treize?"

"Thinking I could push you to the edge... I was so in love with my own martyrdom, Milliard... I thought I'd be enough..."

"Treize, you don't have to do this now."

"It went wrong somewhere, you were more than I'd hoped for in your wrath, but I forced your hand--"

"Treize, stop. It's enough."

"I lied to you."

"I know."

"Every touch," He reached for Zechs's face and Zechs nuzzled his hand, "every kiss, Milliard. I meant them."

"Yes, Treize," Zechs said, and kissed him again, almost as much to calm him as to be near him. And he was indeed calmer, soothed, and they knelt together, holding one another.

At length Treize spoke again. "Could you help me up, Milliard, and into the light?"

Zechs did, apologizing as he did so, seeing Treize stand, a little bent, his slight limp severe now.

"No apologies, my friend, I deserved worse."

Treize refused help once he was standing, and when Zechs reached to turn on another lamp he refused that too. "Too much is worse than too little," he said, making his way down the hall again, and moments later Zechs heard the sound of a gently running tap. He picked the mask up from the floor. It seemed to grin at him now, though he dismissed the thought and sat it with some reverence on an end table. It meant little to him. He could have lived his life having never set eyes on the damned thing again, but Treize seemed to prize it.

"Are you..." Treize began a question, standing at the mouth of the hall, drying his face and hands with a towel, "Do you have a room in Sanq?"

Zechs shook his head, and it suddenly occurred to him he was still wearing his Preventers jacket. So much, so fast. He took it off and dropped it over the arm of a sofa, followed by his shoulder holster. He looked at Treize. "Could I stay with you?"

Treize didn't quite smile, it was more than that. "I'd like nothing more."

Zechs felt himself flush warmly.

"Have you eaten?" Treize asked, "I'm no cook but Une is quite the hand at culinary arts and she has taught me the finer points of re-heating."

"No, I'm fine, thank you," he walked around the sofa that separated himself from Treize. "Where shall I sleep?" But there was no answer forthcoming, and Zechs only stepped closer. Treize tilted his head to the left, a gesture Zechs had noticed him make several times, then touched Zechs's hair, and kissed him. It was different this time. This time there were no tears, more hunger than sorrow, and when they held each other it was not for comfort.

Zechs's hands were on Treize's waist, which seemed much thinner than he remembered, then up, beneath the hem of his sweater. The flesh beneath Zechs's right hand was uneven, smooth in places, but warm. He began to pull the sweater up and Treize broke their kiss to help. "Gently," he said, pulling it over his head with his right arm effortlessly, then easing it down his left. Zechs saw why; the scar that he had seen meandering up from beneath Treize's collar to his jaw began here at his side, around his ribs, blossoming up over his shoulder, his breast, spidering down his arm. It was not disfiguring exactly, but spoke volumes of the real recovery the man had been through.

"You're too thin," was all Zechs said, kissing Treize's neck, scratching his cheek on his beard. He liked the feel of it. He also liked the feel of Treize's hands in his hair, down his back, on his ass. He leaned into Treize and Treize pulled their hips hard together, and if there was any doubt that the Treize he knew lingered beneath this new exterior, they vanished in that instant.

His Preventers shirt was made for wear, not access, and he reluctantly took his hands from Treize to unbutton the damn thing. Treize helped little, kissing his neck, getting in the way more than anything, until he made himself useful at Zechs's belt.

"Boots," Zechs managed to say and tried to bend to reach them, but Treize was tugging on his hand, pulling him into the hallway, a bedroom, the room from which he'd brought the mask. It was gently lit, as the rest of the house, and Treize sat on the bed, looking up to where Zechs stood facing him, still holding his hand.

"Tell me what you want, Milliard."

Zechs didn't think. "You."

"And?"

This time he did. "And your promise."

"You have it, for what it's worth."

"And honesty. Only that."

Treize smiled. "Tall order, Zechs."

Zechs smiled and knelt between Treize's open thighs, "Milliard," he said, unbuttoning his shirt, sliding into Treize's embrace. A prince on his knees. He had heard that was the best kind. "I prefer Milliard."

end

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