He found Ilya kneeling on the floor hugging himself.  “I never meant you to know,” he said.

              “I know,” came the reply.  “That’s what hurts so much.”

              “My sweet little snowflake,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around him, “you ’re so easy to love.  You’ll
              find someone else who loves you that you love, too.”  'He needs you to do this, you old fool.  Cut the cord
              and let him fly.'  “I knew this day would come when I brought you here.  You belong on this plantation about
              as much as a hawk belongs in a barnyard.  When you were strong enough I had always intended to launch
              you into the air and watch you fly away without a backward glance.  Free, as you were meant to be.”  He
              ignored the howling abyss of his once more broken heart and pushed it into a small corner of his mind.

              Before his lover could respond, the French doors were kicked in and three men entered the bedroom. Two
              were wielding rifles and the third was carrying a pistol.  One of the rifle wielders shouldered his weapon
              and pulled the lovers from the bathroom one at a time while the other held his gun at the ready.  Ilya was
              flung face down on the bed while John was forced to kneel in front of the man holding the pistol.

              “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said.  “My name is Clarence Phillips.” He sat down on the bed next to
              Ilya.  “Hello, pet.  Did you miss me?” he asked, running his hand over the young man’s back and ass.

              “Leave him alone; take me instead,” John offered, recalling what Ilya had said about the first time the man
              had raped him.  'Why didn’t I make love to him as he’d asked?  He’d at least be stretched before the bastard
              raped him again.'  His snowflake would be torn again if Phillips took him now.

              He seemed to consider the offer a moment, looking at John, the hand paused on the young man’s ass.  “No,”
              he said finally, kicking apart Ilya’s thighs. “This will hurt both of you.”  Then to his victim: “If you resist,
              I’ll have your lover shot.”   By now, he was kneeling between the parted thighs and opening his fly, his
              pistol placed on the bed beside him.  He pulled out a massive erection, close to John’s size in length but
              somewhat thicker through, and stroked it a few times to harden it further.  He placed the tip against Ilya’s
              puckered opening and thrust forward as he pulled his victim’s hips back, burying himself completely in a
              single thrust.

              Qui-Gon noticed the guards were distracted by their boss’ actions and struck at full Jedi speed.  He took out
              both men before anyone had noticed he’d moved and ripped Phillips off Ilya before he’d had time to thrust
              more than a few times.  But the damage was done; blood trickled down his lovers’ thighs and he lay
              soundless and unmoving.  He moved quickly to bind and gag the prisoners, pausing to not-quite-completely
              tuck Phillips’ penis back into his pants so it was caught in his zipper as he pulled it up.  He regretted the
              need for silence as the muffled sounds of the man’s pain echoed in his ears.

              He dressed quickly in black cotton trousers and shirt, pulling out a similar outfit for Ilya, who still hadn’t
              moved.  Wetting a washcloth and grabbing a towel from the bathroom, he washed the blood from his lover
              as his Jedi senses scanned the house for the other intruders he knew must be there. Ilya had cried out as he’d
              been violated and neither his partner nor Alex had yet appeared.  He sensed five intruders and his two
              guests in the dining room, and other invaders guarding his resident staff.  One of the intruders in the dining
              room had a familiar aura, and he saw how he’d been betrayed.

              “Ilya!” he whispered urgently as he tried to break through the younger man’s shock.  “Kuryakin, your
              partner needs you!”  That registered, and the UNCLE agent snatched up the pistol and rolled off the
              bed.  No trace of his snowflake remained; the man before him was a hardened professional who would kill
              in an eyeblink if he deem it necessary.  Ignoring the pain of his rape, he asked a single question:

              “Where?”

              “In the dining room.”  He handed the man his clothes and reached into the back of his closet for weapons,
              coming out with a pair of UNCLE Specials, silenced and loaded with sleep darts.  “Five there and more
              holding my staff.  We’ll have to do this quietly.”

              Ram paced and muttered as he waited to present his prisoners to his new master.  Quinn had been a good
              employer until he’d taken the whore to his bed.  Such couplings were unnatural and an offense to
              God.  When Phillips rewarded him with Quinn International, he would have to purge those who practiced
              such perversions from the company.

              He was surprised it had been so easy to capture his prisoners.  He’d been warned the two were top UNCLE
              agents, but they’d been swiftly overcome in their beds.  Now they sat tied to chairs, awaiting Phillips’
              arrival with Quinn and the whore.

              “Where is he?” Ram asked again.  “It cannot take that long to overpower an old man and a whore!”

              “Perhaps you should check,” advised Napoleon.  “From what I’ve heard, that ‘old man’ works out every
              morning, and that ‘whore’ is no slouch in the self-defense department, either.”  Brave words to hide what
              he was really feeling: the fear of what Phillips might be doing to his partner while he was helpless to
              prevent it.

              “A whore?” he sneered.  “Don’t make me laugh!  He couldn’t even walk when he got here!  He was
              covered with marks from his unnatural acts!  He seduced a good man into perversion!”

              “Hardly,” Waverly put in.  “John’s been practicing that particular ‘perversion’ for decades.”  The
              expression he wore as he said it made Napoleon wonder just how he knew.

              “You’re disgusting!” he raged.  Turning on the younger of his prisoners, he snarled, “And I suppose you’re
              doing it, too!”

              “I only kissed him once,” Napoleon admitted, “honest.”

              It was at that point the lights went out.