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Once Upon A Time	By : Madame_Lazla Category: +1 through F > Beauty and the Beast (Disney) > Beauty and the Beast (Disney) Views: 11063 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, nor do I own any of the characters in it. I only own the pervertedness. In conjunction, this is a work of pleasure - I make no money from it

Chapter List
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Once Upon A Time…Adam Paid A Visit.
He’d be damned if he was going to visit that…thing…again. Adam was going to stay as far away from that room as possible, and he was not going to think about the evil man with the ice bucket eyes. He. Was. Not. Going. To. See. Him. Because seeing him meant having to deal with him, and the prince had yet to decide the most dignified plan of action.
It was going well the morning after he’d been to the West Wing. The spring was giving away to summer, and Adam had decided to amble about in the palace gardens. He tried, very hard, not to think about the glorious winter he’d spent there with Belle, but she seemed to be everywhere. Her breath was the air, her warmth the sun, her laughter the birds’ song. Where was she now? Why had she not thought of contacting him, letting him know she was alive? They may have no longer been betrothed, but he was still her closest friend – she owed him that much. Although his thoughts had not turned to the stagnating enemy in the West Wing, Adam sadly left before his mind focused on the number of men his former fiancée might have taken since.
The afternoon was a little more difficult. Adam had been writing certain letters to reconnect himself with dignitaries of various kingdoms and countries. Certainly not the most interesting thing to do and Adam found his mind trailing. Such a beautiful vessel for such a hideous soul – the man hardly looked like the ego-centric bastard that had succeeded in murdering him. But one cannot really judge a book by its cover, can they?
By evening, all he could think about was…Gaston. Mais vraiment, the name did not sit well on his tongue. All through his unnecessarily rich dinner, his mind focused on the West Wing. To avoid loneliness, he ate with most of the staff in the large dining hall – that man must be eating gruel by himself. Was he even eating?
“Go see him, dear,” Mrs Potts intercepted him on his way to bed. She gathered his arm in hers and shuffled him in the opposite direction, “The poor thing’s been alone for so long, and it would do him good to have some company.”
“Can I not see him tomorrow? He isn’t going anywhere.”
“You’ll have to deal with him eventually, Master. No time like the present!”
Adam knew better than to go against the smaller woman at times like this. He’d also been feeling guilty about how poorly he’d been treating everyone of late. It still didn’t make him feel any less nervous.
“It’s dark and he might be sleeping. Tomorrow, I beg you. I just need to think of what to say!”
Mrs Potts raised a delicate white eyebrow at him. “Alright then, dear. If you say so. But remember one thing.”
“What?”
She smiled knowingly, “Control your temper!”
***
The crack of dawn constitutes as a new day, Adam reasoned as he paced outside the West Wing door. He couldn’t find it in himself to sleep. Not until he saw that the bastard was doing alright or, at the very least, was courteous enough to pass on during the night.
Gathering his courage, the prince stilled himself, hands on one of the large double doors. No time like the present…
Adam only made it half a step into the orange-lit room before he heard a whooshing noise a sharp pain pierced through the side of face. He reached to rub his sore cheek and the sting intensified. Drawing his hand back, he saw a small smear of red. Something silver shone out of the corner of his eye: a polished fork, stuck in the wood of the doorway.
A fork. The bastard had attacked him with a fork. And had drawn blood.
Control your temper. Control your temper.
“How dare you feed me such disgusting trash?! Don’t you know who I am?!” A pompous tenor rang out, “No one feeds garbage to Gaston!”
Control your temper…control your temper…
It would seem that he hadn’t been eating gruel after all, but a plate of last night’s dinner. Apparently what was good enough for the bloody Prince wasn’t good enough for this uncultured oaf.
Control. Temper. Control. Temper.
“Garbage? Fine then – next time, I’ll just let you starve!”
The shadows huffed, “Fine then! See if I care!”
Adam crossed his arms across his chest and marched further in, half expecting the jerk to throw more cutlery at him. Where was the gratitude? The humility? Adam was even willing to make due with a simple: Thank you for risking your life so that I may once again steal oxygen from the worthy.
“You’d think you’d show some politeness to the man who saved your life!” he snapped, stopping at the foot of the bed.
Gaston was looking much healthier, if not incredibly pale from his bed rest. His eyes were clear and narrowed as he rested against a pillow and mirrored Adam’s body language. The soft dark hairs of his chest curled over his arms and he stuck his bearded chin in the air.
“Some rescue alright! No doctors to wake me up, bad food – and what is this place anyway? How dare you shove me knee-deep in filth?!” if possible, his eyes narrowed more. “And who ARE you?” he rudely spat.
It had never occurred to Adam that he would not be recognisable to his archenemy. So it would seem that the man was rude and ungrateful to everyone.
Control…control….con…TROL...
“I,” Adam growled back, “am the master of this castle and the only reason you’re alive.” He crossed over to the bed side and glared down at the insolent man, “You, are an inconvenience and still breathing because your corpse would be a bigger inconvenience. So you will eat my…garbage, you will heal and you will LEAVE. But first, you WILL treat my house and its inhabitants with the respect they deserve. And you will bathe. Thoroughly. Several times.”
The man in the bed snarled, but his nose was twitching – no doubt trying to smell himself. Adam turned on his heel before he could no longer resist the urge to stab his murderer. He was almost at the door before another whooshing and something silver collided with his shoulder.
Forget control. KILL HIM!
Seeing red, he pulled the butter knife out of its shallow place and launched it towards the bed. He did not linger to see if he had made his mark, but from the snarky laughter that followed him down the corridor, he guessed his aim was off.
***
Mais vraiment: But really
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Once Upon A Time