Moth's Wings

"The Reeling"





A/N: Alright. This takes place before Alcoholics Anonymous, and obviously before Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!. Here we go in depth with Dorian (in 1st POV once again cuz you guys seem to love that, hurrdurr) and his family, as well as his adoption process of Mikhail, plus Microsoft, blah blah blah... xD



So the order of the story arch is:

Moth's Wings

Alcoholics Anonymous

Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!



Hope you enjoy!



WARNING: I know next to nothing about the adoption process, only a few things, so if you personally know and some of my info is incorrect / absolutely retarded... keep it to yourself :] Also, I do indeed know the Russian language, but I'm so freaking lazy... I used google translator for quite a few things. I'm too lazy to spell it all out in English words/lettering so deal with the translation in [ ]'s. Bwahaha.



.::|::.



Sweat.



It's really an annoying, human conundrum. When you exert lots of energy, you sweat. When you're nervous, you sweat. When you have sex, you sweat. (not that I know that last one by personal experience, but I have watched my fair share of pornographic movies, mind you) It's disgusting and as soon as the first bead of perspiration surfaces, it makes you want to shower right away. Unless you're one of those weirdos that likes to sweat, then I have no idea how to familiarize with you. Filthy pigs. I dislike sweating; I dislike smelling bad. I shower daily and tend to my platinum hair like it's another person, keep my face clean-shaven and always launder my clothing almost right after wearing them.



So, the sweat that was starting to form on the back of my neck, was quite the annoying, human conundrum.



Irritating.



"Mr. Dunayevskaya?"



A voice calls out and I turn my attention to the door, where a portly, kind old woman was waiting with some files in her hands.



"If you could come this way, please," she says politely, and I stand from my chair almost a bit too fast, knocking it back against the wall in the process.



The couple next to me look slightly scandalized, but I ignore them as I offer a slightly crooked smile to the woman.



"I'm Mrs. Carter, I'm the head of the agency." She leads me down a long, narrow hallway and through a door, where she offers me a chair in front of a slightly rickety desk.



I sit down, carefully, not sure if the chair is gonna break under my sleight form. I smile politely as she sits down, "Thank you for seeing me today on such short notice."



She smiles and shrugs as she starts to flip through my folder, the one I had compiled accordingly. "Business has been slow, I'm afraid."



The undertone of that sentence is heavy; business could be slow for an adoption agency? That made it sound like they were selling a product that was popular once, but was now in the backs of people's minds. And that... is horrible.



"So, Mr. Dunayevskaya," she starts, picking up my business card and turning it over in her hands. "You're head of your own department at Microsoft Industries?"



"Yes, ma'am."



"You've only been working there for two and a half years?"



"Yes, ma'am."



"That's quite an accomplishment for someone so young as yourself."



"Yes, ma'am."



She takes a breath, and I wonder if she wants more detailed answers from me. What am I supposed to say? 'Oh, don't worry, I'm a genius and good looking, people are clamoring to keep me around, not to mention without me Microsoft would be failing horribly despite the fact Bill Gates' money is just about the only thing keeping us afloat right now'? ... Riiight. I'm sure that's exactly what she wants to hear.



"You're a young, successful business man, a bachelor, and moving very fast in this dog-eat-dog world. What on Earth makes you want to adopt a child?" Her concern is apparent, but her curiosity is greater.



Licking my lips, I shift slightly, but don't let my eyes leave hers. "My parents abandoned me when I was sixteen. I was old enough to understand the reasons why, but I couldn't comprehend why." I hope I'm making sense to her, if not, well fuck. "A lot of these kids never even got to meet their parents. Some of them even watched them die." My fingertips drum idly on my knees, and my left foot starts tapping idly. "I can't take them all in. I wish I could. I wish I could give every one of these children a new set of loving, caring parents, that will be with them for the rest of their lives. If I can save just one child from their past, I'm pretty sure I could live out my life with them and die happy."



Please be a good enough speech, it really did come from the heart, though the tears in my eyes are a little forced. I'm genuinely sad about these kid's fates and pasts, but damn it, that little boy that I've been observing over the past three years... if he doesn't get a loving, caring home, I don't know what I'd do with myself.



"Hmmm," she hums and glances over my files, clicking her tongue idly. "You'd be a single parent, Mr. Dunayevskaya."



"I'm fully aware of that," I say, still tapping my fingers on my knees. The sweat on the back of my neck cooled briefly a few minutes ago, but it was now warm again.



"Normally we don't let single parents adopt children, as it isn't an ideal living environment for a young, damaged individual."



"I understand that."



Her eyes glance back down to the papers; she's reading all of the references from my friends. Well... 'friends'. In a last-ditch effort I'd asked my boss to fill out some of the paperwork, and then of course I had gone to Denise and Mark. All three had been more than happy to put down good words for me; some of which I didn't even know came to their head when they thought of me. Things like responsible, level-headed, goal-oriented, kind-hearted... I still see myself as that awkward, slightly socially inept dork. After a few moments she glances up at me.



"Do you drink?"



"No ma'am, I'm not old enough."



"Right. Do you smoke?"



"No ma'am." Does a cigar every so often count?



"Are you sexually deviant?"



I blink. "Er, I've... never had sex, ma'am."



She blinks as well, obviously shocked. "... Oh. Well. I guess you've been too busy for a girlfriend, hm?"



I nod, deciding not to dwell on that further. If they discover my orientation - which would be next to impossible, since they had no supporting evidence - that most surely would have a harder time letting me adopt. Not only because I'm gay, but because I don't have a 'partner' in which to help care for the baby. It was already proving to be a big enough issue.



"You live near a school, drive a vehicle that is suited for a family..." she flips over a few more papers, scanning them idly. "Do you have any experience with children?"



"No," I blurt, and then instantly scold myself. Dorian, don't be such a fucking retard! "I mean... I've babysat before in the neighborhood I used to live in, but I don't have any siblings or anything." Hopefully that covered up that blunder. Misinterpretation of the question. Genius.~



"Hmmm," she hums again, and I suddenly have the urge to reach over the table and grab that ugly wig she tries to call hair, toss it to the ground, stomp on it, and demand she lets me adopt a child or else I'll destroy every other wig she owns. But, before I can even think about carrying out that thought, she smiles lightly. "I'm going to take you to the main hall where the children are. I'm going to observe your interactions with them for the next three days, and then I will decide if you're fit to be a parent."



...



FUCK YES.



.::|::.



"Dorian, it looks like a broccoli!"



"It's not a broccoli, Jasmine, it's a horse. See?"



"... A broccoli horse?"



I scowl playfully and take the green crayon, coloring in some of the squiggly lines I've made. I'm sitting in the arts and crafts room, all of the children gathering around me as if they couldn't recall the last time they'd seen a stranger. They were thoroughly interested in me, and though I knew I wasn't the best with kids, they all seemed to not care because I was here to play with them.



"There, now it's a broccoli unicorn." I smile proudly and hold up my paper, showing it to all of the kids, who laughed and clapped.



It looks nothing like a unicorn, and now, nothing like broccoli. Just a green mass of squiggles on white paper.



As I reach to help Jasmine, an adorable little nine-year-old, put away her crayons, my eyes survey the crowd. I've been here for three hours and haven't seen hide nor hair of that beautiful boy that I was here for in the first place. Has he already been adopted? A sinking feeling starts in the pit of my stomach, but I cover it up with a smile and a chuckle as Jack puts his scary jack-o-lantern drawing on his face.



Mrs. Carter is watching from a distance, observing like she said she would be. She has no pen in her hands, no clipboard to scribble on violently as she takes in everything I do wrong. I feel slightly elated that it doesn't feel like I'm being judged, but I try to ignore her presence as I focus on the kids in the classroom.



"Oh, Mikhail," I hear her say, and I glance up at her briefly, before my eyes fall on the child she addressed.



It's him.



He's grown since I've seen him last; he has to at least be ten, maybe eleven years old. Now that I see him up close, tanned skin is more visible in the light, and glittering emerald eyes are wandering around the room curiously. He's average sized for a kid, but definitely has the undertone of a future athletic body. Soccer, maybe? I have seen him playing it every now and again.



"Would you like to paint something?" Mrs. Carter asks, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly.



The boy, Mikhail - oh, what a perfect name for the little Adonis - blinks up at her as if trying to understand what she's saying. Mikhail is a Russian name, and I start to wonder if he has come here from Russia, and doesn't know English too well. Excusing myself from the table, I smile at Mrs. Carter as I approach, and then I squat down to get on the beautiful little boy's level.



"Привет там, малыш," [Hi there, little guy] I say, and the boy's eyes light up. His entire face is glowing as recognition filters across his features, and for once I'm glad that I paid attention to my parents as a child to learn the language. "Меня зовут Дориан. Какова ваша?" [My name is Dorian. What is yours?]



"Я Михаил. Вы вампир?" [I'm Mikhail. Are you a vampire?]



... What.



I chuckle and shake my head, my eyes glittering with mirth. That was the first time I've ever been asked that. Do I look like a vampire? Last I checked they were tall, dark and handsome; not gangly, lanky, with platinum blond hair and steel grey-blue eyes. But then again, I've never met a vampire, so I guess I wouldn't know.



"Пойдем краской." [Let's go paint.] I hold out my hand to him and his much smaller one holds it tightly, as we move back over to the table. The other kids smile and greet Mikhail and he nods shyly back at them, clinging closely to my side as if I'm his only life source.



After a few hours of painting and chatting idly with Mikhail, I stand and stretch as the kids get ready for nap time and snacks. I have paint splatters and smudges all over my skin, as well as on my button-down shirt and dark grey slacks. I don't care, though, because the kids are all so great. Not to mention I got to meet that adorable little boy, and connect with him. He seemed so pleased that I could speak Russian; he admitted to me that he knows English, but it was easier for him to pretend he didn't know the language so he didn't have to talk about what happened with his parents. I understood and told him it was our secret.



Mrs. Carter entered the room after she put all of the children down for the afternoon, and her smile was content. It's only been one day, I wonder how I've been doing?



"You work well with children," she says, answering my mental question. Jesus, is she psychic?



YOUR WIG LOOKS LIKE A CAT MY LATE GRANDMA USED TO HAVE. IT GOT STUCK IN A MEAT GRINDER BUT ITS FUR SURVIVED. DID YOU CONFISCATE IT TO MAKE A HEADPIECE?



"Especially Mikhail. He doesn't talk to anyone."



Ah, so she's not psychic.



"Yeah," I smile softly and shrug a bit, moving over to the child-size sink to start washing my hands. "He's a sweet kid."



"He seemed rather drawn to you," she says, her words hovering in the air.



I shrug again as I grab some paper towels and dry off my hands. "I know his language. If you were in a foreign country and surrounded by the natives and didn't know a lick of what they were saying, wouldn't you attach yourself to someone that spoke English?" I dab the damp paper towel at the back of my neck, wiping away the dried sweat from earlier.



"True." She folds her hands in front of her body and smiles. "I have a feeling you knew that Mikhail was housed in this orphanage..."



I blink and blush. Fuck, she figured me out? I guess I'd kinda been treating him special compared to the other kids... "Ah. Well, yeah. I saw him about three years ago when I first got kicked out of my parents' house. He was outside playing soccer. I guess I was just drawn to him." A lot of shrugging is happening in these past few minutes as I raise and drop my shoulders.



"So you came here with adopting him specifically in mind?" She asks, and I can't lie.



"Yes."



There is a few moments' pause and she smiles softly. "I think you'll be good for him, and him for you." She turns to leave, before calling over her shoulder. "Come back tomorrow at four and we'll talk to Mikhail about it."



I blink as she leaves the arts and crafts room, and then giggle giddily to myself.



Ah, my beautiful Mikhail, I will rescue you from this dungeon like a knight in shining armor, and take you to my regal palace!



.::|::.



Not a week later, a social service lady drops by my apartment to do an inspection. I live in a classy condo on the top floor of an expensive complex, nicely furnished with an extra bedroom. I had been using it as an office but decided I don't really need an office; lounging in bed and doing my work sounded like a good way to do things. So, I went with Denise to the store to grab a bed set suitable for a ten-year-old (but of course, still stylish and to my tastes, none of that race-car-bed-thing bullshit), and proceeded to get other miscellaneous things that would aid me in raising a young boy.



She knocks on the door and I let her in, smiling warmly. My place is usually always clean but today I managed to light a few votive candles and polish a few extra surfaces. My charming smile is met by a mildly attractive 30-something woman, and her blush is coy as she takes in my appearance.



Black slacks and a plain white button-down tee, with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows and the top three buttons undone to exude relaxation.



Try not to drool.



Ahaha... I kid.



But this lady, however, seemed rather smitten.



"Mr. Dunayevskaya?"



I grin evilly to myself; ah, I don't think my looks have ever played an advantageous role for me... ever.



"Please," I say, gesturing her inside. "Call me Dorian." I flash my best 100-watt smile and she titters excitedly, stepping into my apartment and glancing around.



"Well, Dorian," she says, obviously a bit excited to be saying my name. Sheesh, when was the last time this lady was laid? "My name is Miss-- Alice. My name is Alice."



"A pleasure," I say, grasping her hand and kissing her knuckles gently, bowing in a cheesy manner.



She blushes and giggles, waving her free hand.



Hook.



"You have a very nice apartment," Alice says, and she follows me into the kitchen.



"It will only be nicer with the added presence of a beautiful child," I wave a hand in the air as I speak, and I hear her sigh dreamily.



Line.



"You're such a brave man, Dorian, wanting to raise a child all by yourself..." I hear her say, as she moves through the dining room and onward to the living room.



The layout of my apartment is simple; after the foyer is a large space, firstly governed by the kitchen to the right, with a dining table between the kitchen and the living area with a sectional couch. I have top of the line technology for a home theatre system, even though I never use it.



"Brave? No." I grab a glass from a cupboard and fill it up with some water, moving to where Alice was standing at the edge of the living room, peering down the one hallway that lead to the two bedrooms and main bath. "Just a lonely soul searching for a companion."



She gasps.



Sinker.



"You're such an admirable man, Dorian!"



I smile and shrug, handing her the glass of water. She takes it and sips on the liquid before stepping down into the hallway and opening up the first door; the kid's room. Satisfied with what she sees, I'm assuming, she shuts the door and moves on to my bedroom after quickly scanning over the bathroom.



"You're a very tidy man," she notes, nodding as she sticks her head in and takes a step into my room. "Are you like this normally, or is this a special occasion?"



"It would be impolite to have my place trashed when in the company of a beautiful lady," I say.



Fuck, I never thought of myself as particularly good looking... but I'm winning her over way, way too easily. Is it my new cologne? I didn't think having a bigger price tag made them smell any better...



This woman is practically puddy in my hands.



She giggles, "What a charmer you are. Wonderful people skills." She takes another drink of the water, nodding to herself before she leaves my bedroom. I'm trailing her like a puppy but I don't want her to see anything that might be incriminating.



As she moves into the kitchen, I mentally make note of what's in the refrigerator. Lunch meats, greens, yogurt, milk, juice -- ... wait, that wasn't juice in that pitcher!



I rush forward and slam the door, making her let out a surprised yelp as she straightens so the door doesn't shut on her. Her eyes are wide and we're both frozen for a moment, staring at each other.



"Uh--" Fuck, what the fuck am I supposed to say!? "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and I think that should at least wait for the second day, hm?"



For a second, I'm sure she doesn't buy it. But then she blushes and giggles, waving a hand and setting her glass on the counter.



"Well, Dorian, this appointment is concluded. I have deemed you and your apartment suitable for a child. And, a family." She smiles proudly, and then makes her way to the door.



"I thank you, Alice," I say as smoothly as possible as I move as far away from the fridge as possible. I'm a good actor, I suppose; I'm not really smooth, or sophisticated, or even all that charming. I've seen a lot of James Bond movies. "Are you sure you can't stay a while longer? I was hoping for some company... perhaps at a sushi bar of some sort."



"Oh, no, it wouldn't be professional of me," she says, waving a hand before running it through her shoulder-length blond hair. She still had a slight flush on her cheeks, though, and I smiled charmingly as I saw her to the door.



"Thank you for your high regards, Alice," I say, and kiss her knuckles once again before she departs with a giggle and a wink.



I shut the door, and then lean against it briefly. I have never, ever been so nervous in my entire life. If Alice hadn't liked what she saw, that was the deciding line on whether or not Mikhail would be able to live with me. And... well, I would have cried. Big, fat, hot tears.



I push away from the door and move into the kitchen, grabbing the pitcher and a glass. In the pitcher was most definitely not juice; it was of the stronger persuasion. Spiced rum. I keep it in a pitcher because I had broke the bottle a few days ago and couldn't stand to have all of the expensive liquer go to waste.



I'm most definitely not an alcoholic.



More, I liked to indulge every now and then in the finer things in life.



... Really.



--

A/N: Part 2! Woo~ the next chapter will be the last. :]



Thanks for your reviews! Keep them coming, they make me work faster!!



♥

~C