A/N: This story was up several years ago. I deleted it, but have since revised some and am re-posting. So if it looks familiar...I'm not stealing. haha.

Chapter 1: Of Hangovers and Gay Bars

The minute Camlin walked in he knew he was doing something wrong. Suffocated by the smoke curling up from cigarettes that hung from smirking lips, he leaned against a table for support as his heart thudded in competition with the pulsing music. On the dance floor, bodies were swaying, thrusting, and slamming into each other. Teeth glinted in the black lights and Camlin's white shirt glowed yellow against his pale skin.

No matter how disgusted he was, he found his eyes wandering from each man to the next. This one had too much eyeliner. That one had too much hair. He was too old. And he was definitely too young. Camlin felt too straight. And maybe he was. Maybe after all this, he was straight. He was almost relieved at the thought until he caught sight of a man leaning against the bar, reaching for a beer. His back muscles bunched and released beneath his tight black tee shirt as Camlin's eyes wandered down to the curve of his ass in tight jeans.

A surge of heat seeped from Camlin's chest to his fingers and toes and he started to shiver like he did when he knew he was doing something wrong. Something very, very wrong. Something very hot. Someone very hot. Someone walking towards him with another beer in his hand. Camlin's heart went into overdrive.

The man smiled endearingly at him, eyebrows raised in a question. Camlin pretended to not to notice. Turning his head towards the dance floor, he kept his eyes on the gorgeous man weaving his way through the crowd towards him. He was quaking almost violently as he finally turned slowly to his right to greet the man with a smile. But he wasn't there. Camlin scanned the crowd desperately, and found him dancing with the only girl in the bar—a curvy redhead who was well past drunk.

Camlin rolled his eyes and turned towards the door to go. He really shouldn't be here anyway. There was still a chance that this whole thing was just a phase. Before he could make an exit, a hard body blocked his way. "Hey there," A hot voice whispered into his ear, causing Camlin to shudder uncomfortably. "What's the hurry?"

"I-I have to-um-I have to go." Camlin mumbled, trying to side step the man in front of him. A finger traced his jaw line and forced him to look up at his suitor. He swallowed when a pair of smoldering blue eyes came into view.

"You don't have to go yet." The man said, and he pulled Camlin onto the dance floor by his collar. Camlin stood there, numbly trying to forget where he was. With those big, rough hands on his hips, he was having a hard time not reacting, but he didn't know how to dance like this. He knew how to waltz. With women.

The man soon grew frustrated with Camlin's stillness and turned to someone else. Taking his cue, Camlin dashed off the floor and pushed through crowds of people to get out the door.

The cool night air greeted him with a sigh and he relaxed back onto the brick wall of the building. This was so messed up. He pushed through the small groups of smokers and shrunk back against the approving whistles he received.

Once he got to his car, which he had parked at a grocery store across the street for appearances, he tried to regain his wits. "I am such an idiot." He muttered, causing two girls to giggle as they walked past his open window. His cheeks colored as they stared freely at him, raking their eyes over his flushed face. Inwardly he gagged, feeling their lust surfacing.

He turned on the car and put it in gear before they could work up the nerve to talk to him— he didn't feel like disappointing anyone else tonight. No, he would just go home and take a cold shower and go to bed. And when he woke up he wouldn't remember any of this. That would be a relief, he convinced himself, to forget.

Home loomed above him like a haunted house in the twilight. He punched the code to his gate and drove up the brick walkway, nervously glancing about the bushes. He'd always been paranoid about intruders. Parking and going around to the back door, he dumped his jacket on a kitchen chair and took the steps two at a time up to his room.

Shedding his clothing, he examined himself in his bathroom mirror. He wondered what those girls had seen in him that was anything worth getting hot and bothered over. He thought he looked pretty boring. With blonde hair, blue eyes, and a wide smile, he was the all-American bore. His mother often bragged to her bridge friends about his good looks, and they all had gorgeous daughters lined up to date him. He thought it was quite a waste, considering he wasn't interested in any of them.

They weren't the right gender. He steered his thoughts in another direction. The only thing he could think of was what it would have been like if he'd had someone to come home with tonight. If he'd be pushing someone onto the bed and watching his eyes grow hungry under Camlin's gaze. Instead, he was here, alone again, flopping back into his empty bed and watching the fan spin.

It rotated slowly above him but did little to soothe the heat. He was soon covered in slick sweat and the sheets were suctioned to his back and legs. It was far too hot for sleeping. Camlin drug his weary body out of bed and tiptoed cautiously out of his room and into the dark hallway.

He'd just sneak down to the living room and sleep on the couch, it'd be cooler there. He really had no reason for sneaking though, his dad was gone on a business trip and his mom never came out of her room after eight. He was quiet anyway, slinking through the shadows, wondering if someone watching would think he was graceful.

After navigating his way through the dark house to the living room, he was surprised to find the television already flickering. He wondered if his mother had left it running until he saw someone sitting on the leather couch, flipping through the channels with a look of boredom on his face.

Camlin took advantage of the fact that the boy hadn't noticed him yet and flipped the light on suddenly. "Jesus Christ!" The boy hissed, jumping from the couch. His gaze met Camlin's and he winced. "Shit."

Moss woke up with a headache surging through his skull. The summer sun pierced his vision and he groaned, rubbing his eyes groggily.

"Nice to see his highness has finally decided to wake up." A woman's voice scolded from the foot of the bed.

"Unh, what time is i-i-i-it?" Moss said through his yawn.

"Nearly two," His mother said, turning back to the ironing. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

Moss groaned again, the dizzying pain of his headache swelling through him. He grabbed the trashcan just in time and hurled the contents of his stomach into it. "Needless to say," his mother continued, not looking up, "you're on house arrest until further notice. And after you brush your teeth you've got to trim the bushes and mow the lawn, Mrs. Lonnette is starting to get sassy so you'll have to do it today, hangover or no."

"Alright," Moss said pulling himself out of bed and steadying himself on the bed post.

"I would give you the drinking talk but I think you've got it down by heart." He nodded and she frowned at him. "What would your dad think?" She asked, shaking her head. Moss rolled his eyes and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing shorts and a tee shirt on the way.

He downed a few aspirin and splashed water on his face. He ignored the deep circles under his eyes and pushed back the insane pounding of his head. Welcome to another day of slavery, he thought with a dark smile.

"Moss, did you drown in the toilet or are you feeling sorry for yourself again?" His mother called and he pulled the second hand tee-shirt over his head.

"Coming!" He called and trudged out the door.

She handed him the hedge-clippers and the shed key on his way out. "Have a good day dear." She said. He kissed her cheek and went outside, striding across the lawn to the storage shed. He unlocked the door and pushed past all the old bikes and fitness equipment he doubted the Lonnettes ever touched and pulled out the lawn mower.

Yanking on the cord, the mower came to life and he pushed it across the lawn, careful to keep the lines neat across the yard. Half way through he peeled off his shirt and threw it to the side, shivering as a drop of sweat trickled down his back. He noticed how a car full of teen girls slowed and tooted their horn at his now shirtless chest. He lifted his head in acknowledgement but otherwise ignored them.

By the time he finished with the lawn and the bushes it was nearly six and the sun was still blazing in the summer sky. He pushed the mower back to the shed, intending on laying low for the rest of the evening to avoid more work. After stowing away the mower, he gathered his discarded shirt, wiping his sweaty face. He cut through the lawn back to his house and flung open the door.

"Done?" His mother asked, tying her tennis shoes.

"Yep." He said, throwing his shirt in the hamper and heading for the shower.

"Well, there's microwave something-or-other in the freezer. I have to go cook for the Mrs. I'll be back around eight. I don't need to remind you that you'd better be here when I get back? You are grounded."

"Sure, I'll be here." Moss said, stepping out of his shorts and throwing them on top of his shirt in the hamper. He smiled widely for him mother in response to her firm glare. "Pinky swear."

His mom rolled her eyes and left, quietly shutting the door behind her. Moss padded into the bathroom and turned on the taps to the shower, making them as cold as they could go. He slipped out of his boxers and got in, stiffening as the icy water pelted him. He quickly lathered up and rinsed off, hopping out only five minutes later, shivering as he reached for a towel.

He swallowed a few more aspirin and pulled on some clean clothes, knowing his mom would have a fit at the thought of needless laundry.

His mom came in around eight and smiled wearily at him. She slid out of her shoes and rubbed her feet. She made a beeline for the shower and Moss listened to the familiar noises of the water running and his mother's singing.

A half hour later, his mom came out of the bathroom in her old pink bathrobe and disappeared into her bedroom. He heard her snores within a few minutes and slipped quickly out of the house. He jumped from shadow to shadow until he reached the huge Lonnette house. He knew the Mr. was gone for a week and the Mrs. never got out of bed after eight. There was the threat of the son, but Moss had only seen him a few times since he'd lived there. The kid went to some private school all year and only came home on summer break, and even then he was pretty much gone or holed up in his room so he wouldn't pose a threat. No one would mind if Moss watched a bit of television, and it didn't matter if they minded or not, they'd never find out.

He disarmed the code and tiptoed through the kitchen to the living room. He left the lights off; there was no need to take stupid chances. He kept the volume on low and flipped on the T.V. After watching an infomercial on hair growth, Moss flipped through the channels, searching for something interesting.

Suddenly, the light flicked on. "Jesus Christ!" He hissed, jumping up from the couch and turning towards the light switch.

Standing at the doorway was a blonde boy dressed in nothing but boxers and an amused expression. "Shit." Moss whispered, mentally kicking himself for getting himself into trouble yet again. His mom was going to kill him, and probably cry while doing it, which would be painfully awkward.

"I should say so." Camlin said, donning his upper class drawl and crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Who are you, vandal?" He asked, knowing exactly who the boy was. It was the maid's son, stubborn little shit if he remembered correctly.

"Who are you?" The boy countered, steeling his gaze. Camlin had remembered correctly then.

"I'm Camlin Lonnette and this is my house you've broken into so I really think you've got no right to the upper hand here." He said, smirking.

"I haven't broken in!" The boy shouted. Camlin raised an eyebrow.

"No? What are you doing here then? Mother didn't mention taking in any strays lately, although I wouldn't put it past her."

The boy made a growling noise and clenched his fists. "Now, now," Camlin said, smirk growing, "There's no need for violence, just tell me your name."

"Moss." The boy said stiffly, unclenching his fists.

"Well Moss, I think I should probably call the authorities, don't you? I can't have this break in going unpunished can I?"

"No!" Moss said, bolting forwards, hands outstretched. "I mean yes! I mean, don't call the cops! I'm sorry ok, I live in the servant house, my mom is your-" Moss's face darkened, "maid."

Camlin nodded, vicious smile blooming over his features. "You're the help then?" Moss scowled, but nodded. "Well fine, I won't tell anyone this time, just get out now and I'll forget you even exist."

Moss hesitated for a moment and Camlin raised his eyebrows. "Unless you want me to call the police?" He said and Moss bolted out the door without a second thought.

Camlin settled onto the couch and calmly channel surfed until the cool leather of the couch put him to sleep.

Moss stomped across the yard, kicking a statue on the way. He barked out obscenities when his toe throbbed from the impact. Forcing himself to be silent, he slipped back into his house and quietly got into bed, still seething about his encounter with Camlin.