Ansel's heart was pounding violently, his cock ready and hungry to be inside of his lover once more. He did his best to take great care with Lucio's shirt and felt a childish sense of pride when he managed to undo the article of clothing without damaging it. As Lucio stepped back, Ansel inhaled deeply, eager to see him after what had felt like months, even though it truly had only been a few days since their last coupling. His eyes sparkled with anticipation as Lucio removed his shirt, but all desire, lust and joy drained from him the instant he set his eyes on Lucio's body and saw bruise after bruise. His lips parted, his brow knit together, his face a mask of confusion and concern. A startling clarity was in Ansel's pupils as he examined Lucio, as if the alcohol had suddenly lost all effect on him.<br/><br/>"Baby . . . " he said gently, tenderly, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. "Lucio, sweetness, what . . . what happened, baby?" He reached out and unknowingly stroked the bruised side of Lucio's face, accidentally wiping away some of the makeup that Lucio had applied earlier that day. Beneath the false skin tone was a dark blue mark that made Ansel gasp. He pulled Lucio close to him as gingerly as he could, running his fingers down along Lucio's back comfortingly, but stopped the moment his fingertips passed along one of the wounds on Lucio's back.<br/><br/>"What the fuck?" he growled, letting Lucio go and walking around him to see all of the lashes that marred Lucio's perfect skin. Ansel could feel his heart shattering in his chest and hot, angry tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. How could this happen? Who the fuck would do this to his beautiful prince? Who the fuck would have the fucking audacity to think that they could hurt<i>his </i>Lucio?<i>His </i>boyfriend?<br/><br/>And then it all came rushing back, the reason for Ansel's depression the day before, the reason for the twisting of his stomach, the sickness, the anxiety. James Buckley. His baby was with Buckley last night, doing his job, and the sick fuck had used Lucio as some kind of sadistic toy. Lucio was a gift, his body, his existence, his attention was precious, and this disgusting, slimy worm had taken the perfect specimen and abused him. Hurt him. Buckley had hurt his love.<br/><br/>A primal, vicious growl left the professor's lips as he stepped away from Lucio, unable to tame the rage that was coursing through him. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he snarled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles started to turn white. "I'm going to rip that repugnant little bastard's fucking throat out." He was pacing back and forth now, quickly like a caged, anxious beast. "He thinks he can fucking touch you and get away with it? That I won't hunt him down like the dog he is and beat him within an inch of his pathetic, worthless life?"<br/><br/>Ansel could barely stand it. The testosterone, the fury, the alcohol. It was all swirling together in his body, leaving him feeling like he was going to explode. He couldn't look at Lucio without seeing Buckley, a sick smirk on his ugly rat face as he abused Ansel's sweetheart. How fucking<i>dare he</i>?<br/><br/>In a desperate attempt to channel his rage, Ansel swung his fist at the wall, punching a hole through it without flinching. When he pulled his hand back, his knuckles were leaking blood. The professor inhaled deeply as he stared at the hole, his face blank. The next time he saw Buckley, he was going to make sure he looked ten times worse than Lucio.