It had been sweet.

A toxic sweetness, one Caius couldn't help but fall into. A sort of sweetness that could burn in one's stomach, that could crush the heart. Caius hadn't been able to resist that taste. Had he even wanted to?

Caius stared blindly at his canvas. Anakin, by walking with his hand on Caius' shoulder, had helped carry the easel to the park. He was in bright sunshine, which made his paint practically shine. But what could he draw to describe this feeling?

He sighed.

“Caius?”

Caius turned to Anakin's hesitant whisper. “Yes?”

Anakin smiled. It must have been a while that he had been calling to him, because Anakin seemed a bit... relieved. “I see now why it is good to leave an artist alone. It scares me, not knowing if you can hear.” Anakin's voice was soft.

“If you call softly, I don't hear. And if you call loudly, you interrupt me and I get angry,” Caius confessed. “It's a lose-lose situation either way, I suppose. I'm sorry for not answering you. What's up?”

Anakin was lounging negligently on the grass. His head, at the moment, was cocked to the side, a wide, almost arrogant smile on his face. “I just wanted to know if you knew what you were drawing.”

“Huh? Uh, no.” Caius didn't turn to see what it was, either. “I don't look at it until I'm done, at least the initial stages. I tweak it once it's completed and dry. If I look at it part-way through, I may start trying to influence the work too much, and it would lose its message.”

“Hm. You will have to explain that more fully later. I would like to run, I think.” Anakin looked around. “This place is beautiful. It takes the sting away from the surrounding area, the destruction of it.”

Caius looked around. The park was beautiful, though a bit populated. A little girl, too young to even swing her legs, was being pushed gently by her mother. Three teenage kids a bit older than he played volleyball in the sand while beside them sat a boy trying futilely to make a sand castle. His mother watched from a bench nearby. And on the pathway that circled around a soccer field, an elderly couple walked hand-in-hand. Everything was peaceful here.

Caius smiled. “Yeah...”

Anakin stood with cat-like grace. “Then I will leave you for a short while. I will always be in eyesight, of course,” he added at Caius' worried glance. “Just focus on finishing that painting.” With that, Anakin saluted and jogged off.

Caius covered his eyes from the sun. Anakin looked so lithe in that moment, he wished he could capture that vision...

He focused on every contour of Anakin's body, then quickly switched out canvasses and furiously began mixing paints.

<*>

It was hours later when he came up for air. His skin felt salty and sticky from the sweat he'd slowly accumulated out in the sun. His hands were cramped. But the work was done.

He'd done his best to feel only what he'd felt in that one instant, to see only that small portion of Anakin's strength.

And in return there he stood, everything but his face and chest turned from the viewer as he ran off with a lazy salute. Caius stepped back and cocked his head to the side, dissecting the work. The colors on his arm weren't quite right, and his right elbow was a smidge too big, but those were easily fixed. The eyes. Those were most important. The eyes and that wide, kind, arrogant grin.

Only when Caius saw their perfection did he breathe a sigh of relief.

“Caius.”

Caius jumped. With a whirl, he turned to stare into those same, precious eyes. With a pang, he saw a light in them he hadn't been able to capture. “U-Uhmm, how long have you been there?”

“You had begun my outline,” Anakin murmured. “I would say about four hours ago.”

Caius turned away and looked back at the picture. Anakin's frame was still there, but those eyes weren't as bright as they needed to be. “I'm sorry I couldn't get you right.”

Footsteps in the grass warned Caius of Anakin's approach. “I thought you said that you couldn't draw what you saw.”

“Not well,” he admitted. “and usually I don't see anything I want to paint.”

Anakin's body warmth centered on Caius' back. “Then thank you. For wanting to paint me.” With graceful ease, Anakin walked over to the canvas. “It's beautiful,” he murmured. “You say this is not good?”

Caius studied it from behind Anakin's shoulder. “Well, it's not too bad,” he said finally.

Anakin chuckled. “You artists are always too hard on yourselves.”

That remark struck something in Caius. Why was he suddenly angry? “You know other artists?” he asked curiously.

Anakin's gaze stayed on the painting. It was starting to make Caius feel nervous. “Yes,” he answered after a time. “One in particular.”

“Who?” Damn, but he was pissed. This person was closer to Anakin than he could ever be – after all, this person knew the truths about Anakin.

“His name was... is... Keshen Nyaga. He's the Chief Artist of the King's Men.” The smile on Anakin's face was soft. It made Caius' chest burn. “He and I would speak often. He, too, was unable to appreciate his own work.”

Caius looked at his painting again. Somehow it seemed even less brilliant, tainted as it was by a peon's hand. He wanted to rip it to shreds, to destroy it until its very existence was questioned. He wanted it burned.

“Caius?”

He jumped, surprised. “Yeah?”

Anakin smiled. “What were you thinking?”

Caius shrugged, uncomfortable. How could he explain that hearing about Anakin's friend would make him so angry that he would want to destroy his own work? “Uh, just that it still needs a lot of work.”

That smile shivered just a bit. “What are you really thinking?”

Caius blushed. “What...”

Anakin moved a bit closer to him, just enough for Caius to catch a hint of his scent. “Caius, I have been with you for a short time, it is true, but that time has been uninterrupted. I have begun understanding you. I know when you are hurting. I can feel it.” He touched his chest, right where his heart would be. Tell me?”

Anakin's eyes were too strong to resist. “I... I just wish I knew, is all.”

“Knew?” Anakin echoed.

Caius looked out around him; all those people he had taken notice of before were long gone. Only he had remained this entire time. “I just wish I knew more about you.” He turned, suddenly angry. “It's not fair for you to know everything about me and me not know anything about you!”

Anakin stared down at Caius, surprised. “I see. I must apologize, Caius. I never thought about it.”

“I...” Caius instantly regretted his outburst. “I didn't mean anything by it,” he mumbled. He began putting away his paintbrushes. That was another pain about coming out here to the park – it would take forever to lug everything back, and then he would have to immediately begin clean-up. If he didn't, his brushes could become ruined, not to mention the state of his palette. But at least Anakin had gotten the chance to run in the sun.

“Caius, do not be foolish.” Anakin stepped beside him and discreetly picked up Caius' palette, placing it into a special holder on the back of his easel. “If you want to know something, I would be happy to tell you.”

“Don't...” Caius hesitated, ashamed. He'd been about to order Anakin again. “It's no big deal.”

“Caius-”

“Don-” He swallowed back his words and lapsed into silence. Twice in less than a minute. Less than half a minute. He couldn't – he couldn't allow it to happen again. “Please don't,” he whispered. He finished putting away his brushes and carefully picked up his painting, still drying on the canvas. Anakin hesitated for a second, but then he came up and gently placed his hand on Caius' shoulder and picked up the easel. Caius kept his eyes down as they made their way back to the house.

<*>

When finally he was finished cleaning his brushes and had placed both paintings safely on his closet floor to dry, Caius lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Anakin had already begun studying his leisure books, poring over them until he stumbled over a word. Then he would pull out the dictionary – which Caius had searched for one day after getting tired of constantly having to answer Anakin's questions – and studiously look up the word's meaning. The man was so smart it almost made Caius sick.

Anakin. What exactly was he to Caius?

He turned onto his side. A friend? Maybe... he felt close to Anakin, as if he could give out his secrets without too much worry. Was that odd, to feel so safe around him so quickly? But they shared practically every waking moment together. Caius had to go to the bathroom as quickly as possible just to make sure Anakin would be okay. It was ridiculous. Under that sort of restriction, there was no choice but to either get close to one another quickly or despise one another immensely. And he knew he didn't despise Anakin.

Of its own accord his finger came up to touch his lips. He remembered Anakin's taste. The man had kissed him again. He couldn't say it felt bad, necessarily. Just... strange. And powerful. And...

He shook his head. No. No! He wasn't gay. He'd hurt Anakin because he wasn't gay. He'd placed a scar on Anakin's heart because he'd been so pissed off about being kissed when he was so clearly straight. And...

He covered his face with his hands. And he was giving himself a headache.

“Caius? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he muttered. Or at least he would be if Anakin were more of an asshole toward him. Any more of this kindness and he was liable to...

What was that?

He clapped his hands over his ears and winced. What the hell was that noise? Almost like a dog whistle, yet he could hear it, high-pitched and continuous. He whimpered.

“Caius?”

He rolled over and grabbed his pillow, stuffing it over his ears. What was that? “Anakin,” he called, but he didn't think his voice was over a whisper, “what's that noise?”

“Noise?” Anakin echoed. Caius didn't dare look out from underneath his pillow to see what Anakin's face was, but he thought the man sounded a little too surprised. The noise, after all, was getting even louder.

He plugged his ears with his hands. It felt like any second now his eardrums would burst.

“Caius?” He felt Anakin's hand on his back.

“It hurts,” he whispered, then louder, “it hurts!”

“It...” Suddenly Anakin's hands were tight around Caius' shoulders, forcing him to turn. The pillow fell to the floor. He found himself staring straight at Anakin. Why were those amethyst eyes so dead serious? “Order me,” he said loudly.

“Wh-what?” Caius asked. Order him to what? Make the noise stop?

“Order me. Give me an order. Quickly!” he snapped when Caius began to shake his head.

“No...” He couldn't help but think of that evening, when he'd... “No! I'll never do that again!”

Anakin grabbed his wrists. “If I'm right, ordering me will make the noise go away.”

Caius' heart hammered in his chest. That didn't make sense. Of course, it didn't make sense for a man who only he could see and hear to magically appear in his room... “No,” he whispered again.

“Caius, order me!”

“No!”

“What the hell's going on up here, faggot?” Anakin let go of him just as his door slammed open. His father glared down at him.

“Just – a headache,” Caius murmured, hardly hearing himself over the incessant ringing. He didn't uncover his ears.

“Well shut the hell up before you give me one, too,” the man shouted. “Bullshit.”

“Caius, order me and the noise will go away,” Anakin said again, not even waiting for his father to close the door as he left. As soon as the door clicked shut, he was touching Caius again, this time cupping his face. “Just a tiny order – the smallest thing might do it. Please.”

Please? Please? Caius felt horror grow heavy in his chest. “But I don't-”

“You must, or else this will only be the start of your pain!”

“I don't care,” he said. “I don't want to-”

“Caius, I am begging you, please order me!”

His chest hurt. Did he really have to hurt Anakin just to save his own worthless self? “Then... then...” His mind blanked. He couldn't think of anything!

“Order me to get something, order me to do something! Push-ups,” Anakin advised, “or getting a book. Or reciting the alphabet!”

“That one!” he gasped. “The alphabet – tell me the alphabet.”

“A,” Anakin began immediately. “B, C, D, E...”

And the sound disappeared.

Caius just lay there stupidly for a moment, wholly disbelieving. The sound had been torturing him simply because he hadn't given Anakin an order? That made no sense; he'd been putting off giving Anakin orders for as long as possible these past two days. He'd been doing his best to...

And then he burst into tears.

“K, L, M...”

His hands slid to cover his eyes. How could he?! How could he do this to Anakin just to save himself from an annoying noise? Just because it had felt like his ears were going to explode, just because he'd been afraid of pain... now Anakin was stupidly listing off the letters of the alphabet like a toddler because he'd told the man he had to.

“S, T, U, V...”

He'd ruined Anakin just to save himself, and from something that wasn't even dangerous...

“Y, Z.”

“I'm-” he started desperately, but Anakin caught him up, pulled his head forward, and crushed him within his arms.

“I am sorry, Caius,” Anakin murmured into his ear. “I am so sorry.”

“Anakin, I'm-”

“I know that was hard for you,” Anakin continued, not letting him apologize. In his arms, Caius could only stare blankly at the wall. “I know, and I'm sorry. Are you all right?”

Caius felt his head move to the right, then the left. His hands clutched Anakin tightly, grabbing his clothes. “No, I... I shouldn't have...”

He felt Anakin's lips press warmly against his forehead. “No, it was for the best that you did. The sound is gone now, right?”

That wasn't the point. That wasn't the point! “I'm sorry,” he sobbed, wishing that he could somehow pull Anakin even closer, even though they were practically glued together already. “I'm sorry!”

“Don't,” Anakin whispered. “I am not sorry. You were hurting-”

“I ordered you!” His eyes shut tight, he buried his face into Anakin's chest and curled his legs up. If he could crawl into Anakin's warmth, he would. “I ordered you... I hurt you... for myself...”

“I was not hurt,” Anakin stated.

“I... I had you say the alphabet like a little kid, just because...”

“It hurt you, right?” Anakin once again pressed his lips to Caius' skin, but this time he lingered. “Then I am not sorry you ordered me.”

“For myself,” Caius whispered again. Anakin's warmth was so soothing... he felt safe. “I won't do it again, I promise.”

Anakin sighed. “I believe things will not be so easy. The sound will probably return if you do not order me often.”

Caius took a deep breath. “I won't.” He would make sure of it.

He frowned then. He was definitely warm, definitely comfortable. His death grip on Anakin loosened. At least he hadn't harmed Anakin in any way; at least the only degradation Anakin had suffered was through pride. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he'd hurt the man again. If he had caused that again...

Anakin's arms unraveled from around him, and he propped himself up on his elbows. Their eyes linked. “I must apologize again,” Anakin breathed. “It seems I cannot help myself. Not with you so close...”

Anakin's lips dipped down for a kiss.

Caius froze for a second as their lips connected - no! Wrong! - before feeling a jolt so shockingly strong it arched his back off the bed. He moaned into Anakin's mouth. His hands, still loosely clutching Anakin's back, tightened once again. He felt... he felt himself straining against his jeans.

Anakin released his lips and pushed back a bit. Those violet eyes pierced his own. “Caius.”

“Ah!” Caius jerked again, confused. Why was his body reacting like this? He wasn't... but this definitely felt like it had to be... “Anakin,” he gasped, “what...?”

The lips whispered over his face. “Caius,” he said again, then once more, “Caius.” Anakin captured his lips again, forced them to open, and slid his tongue inside. The jolting sensation increased tenfold, crashing through him, a white-hot blaze. He gasped again. Bucked. It hurt. It hurt, and yet if the fire didn't get stronger and burst, he just might die.

Anakin's hands traveled down his face, down to his chest, rubbed over his shirt, causing a friction against his nipples, perked and sensitive. He moaned, then again, louder, as those hands continued down, playing with his stomach, until they were pushing his shirt up...

No.

He wasn't gay; he didn't want this...! He felt his back arch, assisting Anakin in pulling up his shirt. He thought for a moment Anakin would pull it off completely, but he just left it there on his collarbone and left his chest and stomach wide open. His chest shuddered up and down with each unsteady breath. He blushed. He knew he was pale, thin, too young to be attractive...

What? Why did he care? He wasn't...!

“Ah!” Anakin released his lips to slide lower, down to his chest. His tongue shot out and licked his nipple. “Ahh! Anakin!” His fingers clenched in Anakin's dark hair, his body bucked up without his consent. The fire was spreading in flashes...

One of Anakin's hands lowered even more, sweeping down from his torso and cupping his erection within his pants. He jerked the most wildly yet, almost screaming. The heat that flew through him left him so hot he feared he'd been burned. “Ah – ah – Anakin...”

Suddenly he was splashed with cold as Anakin abandoned him. He saw Anakin's body jump off the bed, his hand grasping the bedcovers and throwing them, left unmade, over his head. No sooner had the covers settled under his chin than his door opened. He turned his eyes, still wide with shock and... and desire... to see his father scowling down at him from the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing, you fag?!”