Like Father, Like Lover

Author's Note: Amazingly (or not) I am pretty sure that out of the 20-ish hits, not one person managed to make it all the way through the story. Didn't know people's stomachs were THAT weak.


"Seto, wake up. Wake up." Words, spoken softly, walking through his ears. "Wake up, now." An order, slightly harsher. He groaned. "Wake up. Now." His eyes opened. "Hello. Been dreaming?" Wicked smile.

He was just waking up. I called his name softly. Blue eyes fluttered. I smiled. "Awake?" He nodded, slowly. "Good. Good boy." His eyelids drooped slightly. I moved over to run my hand through his hair. He winced.

"Easy...easy love," I cooed to him. The words seemed to comfort him. He relaxed a tad. Just a little. It was enough.

I drew back and slapped him across the face. His head jerked. His whole body might have turned with the force behind the blow if it were not for the straps...holding him in place across the shoulders and waist.

I leered. So my bitch wanted to play at being helpless tonight, did he? Well, I could deal with that.

My hand sought out the table behind me. Seto whimpered.

He has always hated it when I call him by his first name. Said his father used to do that, too. I don't know why he's complaining. He always asks for it.

I brought my hand back, smirking as Seto's face whitened in terror. "Give me your hand, darling." He pulled it in closer to himself. (His right one bends out at an odd angle; I've always wondered why.) "Now, now...give me your hand."

And reluctantly, he extended it.

I took it in my own and caressed the soft skin. Pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He turned red, and those beautiful blue eyes of his pressed shut. Any sign of affection and he closes off.

His hand splayed out on the wooden work bench, I fastened the wrist in place. More straps. More buckles. He doesn't feel safe without them.

I have to wonder if he ever will.

The power drill made a harsh sound as it roared into life. Seto's eyes - priceless. Beautiful eyes, wide with fear as the drill bit lowered. "Hush, hush," I cooed. He couldn't hear me. I was too soft, anyway.

Power tools are intriguing things. They whirr and hiss and growl when one turns them on...and when one uses them -

I can't see how he had any air in his lungs by the time the drill bit made it through his hand. He had asked me last night to mark him forever as mine. I doubt he'll ask me again.

Blood stained the work bench. It was gushing from his hand, dribbling to the once pristine floor. Only one way to stop it.

"Hold still." Not that I thought he would be going anywhere; not with that contraption holding him hostage. I went back to my cache of tools to find what I was looking for.

A blowtorch.

He let out a sound that was pure animal. Losing himself again... I needed to bring the human in him out once more. That precious ability to cope with pain and fear in a better manner.

"Trust me on this, Seto," I said softly. He was shaking still.

Good boy. That's what he is. Good boy.

The torch roared into life. Or perhaps 'hissed' is a more accurate description. It hissed...purring as it seared the wound through his hand shut. There will always be a hole through his skin now. One I made. One he asked me to make.

He's always asking for it.

Once the deed was done, I discarded the torch and freed his hand. I undid the restraints around his chest and waist. Pulled him to his feet and drew him into a hug.

"Good boy. It's all right. It'll be all right."

The poor thing couldn't stop crying. I smiled.

*****

"Yami?" His voice was soft. I turned to face him. He was curled up on the sofa, holding his hand near to his body.

"What is it?" I inquired softly.

He lowered his eyes. His free hand was rubbing at his injured one. He'd been doing that for the past few days.

"It won't heal if you keep touching it."

He nodded and bit his lip. Slowly, I made my way over to him. He fits nicely on the couch, long legs drawn up to his chest tightly. His body forms a cocoon, protecting itself from the outside world.

But not from me.

I took a seat by him. He curled away from me, his body tightening up and condensing. I leaned over him to stroke his hair. He flinched.

"Easy, easy," I cooed. His trembling body was warm. I ran my fingers through his hair. He did not relax. It didn't matter. I didn't need him relaxed.

"Seto. Kiss me, Seto."

He turned his head away.

He was asking for it again. Always asking for it. My fingers twisted in his hair and pulled, turning his head. One more time. "Kiss me."

His eyes closed and he tried to pull away. That was it.

Then he was clutching at his face, whimpering, rocking back and forth on the floor, staring at me between fingers that were dripping blood from his face.

I stretched out on the couch, and smiled. He was asking for it.


"Stop fighting. It'll only hurt more." Was it possible to hurt more? He didn't know. Everything was torn up inside now, too.

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Part III....may or may not be coming. I think I like this like this.