Paul laughed, the sound creeping into Gabriel's head as the other stroked his bruised neck.  He was enjoying this, was enjoying watching Gabriel worry and feeding on his fear...  It shouldn't have been a surprise, and it wasn't really-- Gabriel knew what kind of man Paul was.  He had just hoped to never disappoint him so deeply, to anger him so much...<br/><br/>Paul pulled away, leaving Gabriel cold and alone on the bed; he felt the cuffs removed, and his heart sank, hammering against his ribs.  The plug was left, forgotten.  And then...<br/><br/>And then Gabriel was in Paul's arms, wrapped tightly and held close to his chest.  It made no sense, wasn't like any touch Paul had ever given him before, and Gabriel just stood there with shock.  His chest ached, his hands cold and awkward at his sides...  To others, such an embrace might have been wonderful, but Gabriel absolutely hated it.  It wasn't right, it shouldn't be happening...  It felt like he'd been slapped, though he would have much preferred if that were the case instead.<br/><br/>He was near tears, listening to Paul and looking where he directed: their favorites, lined up neatly on the table and ready for their turn.  But they would not be used now, would be put away and left untouched, all because Gabriel was a fool...  Paul spoke again, sounding so let down and unhappy, and Gabriel tried to swallow back the lump of guilt forming in his throat.<br/><br/>Gabriel didn't notice Paul's hand until he finally dug his fingers in as he asked his question, and the unshed tears made his eyes shine as he blinked; the pain was perfect, Paul's nails drawing blood to the surface, little wells of crimson just sitting against his pallid skin.  Finally, Paul sounded more like himself.<i>Whose fault is that...?</i><br/><br/>"Mine, sir... it's my fault."  Gabriel barely breathed, voice so low and soft it nearly didn't escape the tightness of his jaw.  He looked up at Paul with regret and shame; his mask was gone for now, already disassembled by his own stupidity.<br/><br/>It turned out the boy was a person somewhere underneath all his serenity-- a twisted, skewed version of a person, little more than a shell, but that humanity he hated was still there.  And now Paul could see it, plain as anything.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry, sir..."  The apology was murmured, just a few words that fell from his tongue, and his pale lashes shielded his eyes from Paul's intense gaze.  He<i>was</i>sorry, incredibly sorry, and he didn't know how to fix things, to make them right again...<br/><br/>The boy just stood, rigid and full of tense energy, and waited in dismay for Paul to leave.  There was no reason for him to stay, not if he was so upset with his angel... though who knew if Paul would call him that after such egregious mistakes.