My possession

This little story is all in Seto's point of view. It's suppose to be a sister fic to a friends story. I'm doing Seto/Possession my friend is doing Ryou/Obsession. We'll hope you enjoy it!

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I’ve been told before that I am selfish and greedy. What of it? What’s so wrong with that? I work for what I want. If there’s something I’m interested in I go for it. It’s the way business works and that’s never failed me yet. So it comes to no surprise that I take the time to use this state of mind with things outside of Kaiba Corp. as well, such as my own personal life.

The ruthlessly cold cut and slice of the working day seems to melt away as soon as my Italian leather shoes hit the entrance of that doorway. I’ve never been a man of beauty yet something in the air makes my breath catch in its passage way as my blue eyes scan the frigid room with no light other than the silver blue of the night that streams through the slits of those heavy curtains.

My steps are muffled by the carpet as I make my way through the darkened room, long fingers pulling out the knot of my tie as I wander, as if in a memorized maze, through the objects of the place. He’s there, sleeping peacefully, a stray light of silver falling across the curled up body under the covers. His soft breathing making the covers move just slightly but I ignore it.

By the time I’m changed and ready to call it a night, moving under the covers as silently as I can, I take the time to look at his sleeping form. I’m not sure if he’s aware of me yet but if he is he’s being damn good in acting the innocent sleeping prince. That in itself is enough to fuel my drive as I move my cold hands underneath his sleeping shirt, finger tips coming into contact with alabaster soft white skin that turns pink so easily under my ministrations.

Then it happens, those fluttering silver lashes open and I get angered at the sight of those orbs. As much as I secretly enjoy coming home to those sleepy half lidded eyes and that generous curve of a smile that he always has ready for me, I get mad. This surge of selfish greed comes to me, something that makes my hands tighten around him. He’s my possession, my ever happy to please toy.

Business, you see, is all about possession. It’s a game of give and take. Give some of this to gain more of take, learning to retract and give is a delicate balance. Something I pride myself in knowing how to play fully and I don’t lessen that business hand when it comes to my lovers. I’m not the type of man that shares, either it is mine alone or no one else’s. I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from.

So it’s no surprise that I enjoy those sighs of pleasure as my hands travel up his torso, brushing his favorite parts with practiced fingers. I leave my kisses and bites along his neck leaving behind marks as plain to anyone as my own copyright sign. He gives me one of his mewling moans and I can’t help but smile against his skin as I decide to turn it up a notch.

Business is a beautiful thing, give and retract, give and retract. No more different than what I do to the boy underneath me as his delicate painter’s fingers claw my back. Isn’t he wonderful? My intern in bed, something I’ve trained and I have to say I’m quite pleased with the results of this project.

Yet, there are times when my possession surprises me. He wraps his legs around my waist without a word from I, he suckles on my neck hard enough for me to wear a high collared shirt the next day. Even, on rare occasions when I’m feeling generous, he decides to straddle my hips and move above me. Now that’s something I have never brought up.

So he fuels my passion and keeps my desire to claim him my own alive. Thus I take him again and again until his groans and yells of pleasure become nothing more than silent screams as his head falls back, letting his silver white hair hang like a heavy curtains. His face torn between a look of absolute pleasure that so closely resembles pain, something I can’t seem to get enough of.

Pain is something I know he experiences often. I sometimes come home late and tired, frustrated from the days events. That’s when he knows to lay still, let me have my way with him until I’m exhausted and sleep soon takes me. Or on other more common occasions I decide to turn my frustration verbal. This is when my anger rises. He stands there, quiet as a statue, and let’s my words wash over. Why won’t he talk back? Yell, scream, point, accuse, tear up, cry. He doesn’t and that’s what makes me much more fond of him. He’s patient, he’s quiet, and more importantly he understand and won’t nag.

Yes, I think I’m fond of this one. Though should he ever ask to hear those idiotic words of love someday I know words of hurt will soon arise. Though I think this one is smarter than that. Yes, I think this one is one that I plan to keep around for a long while.