SCARS
Melcena Lang

I like owning him.

I don't think he realizes exactly how much of a hold I have on him right now, but that's okay - it's part of his charm. He's such a strange stubborn man. He's smart - I'll give him that - but sometimes he can't see what's right in front of his face. Like Dorei. Granted, Dorei hides it well, but you'd think that after you've fucked a man a few times, you'd be able to tell when his responses stop being purely physical. I always can, anyway, and that's how I know it's time to cut and run.

The way he treats Dorei used to piss me off. Hell, it still pisses me off. I promised myself I'd hurt him for it, and I intend to, someday. But for now I'll settle for banging him. Every night. Often and repeatedly. Because there's just something unspeakably hot about having someone who's usually such a domineering asshole (no pun intended) quivering beneath you and asking for more. Though he doesn't always end up on the bottom, I admit. But watching him play the role he's accustomed to is almost as amusing. Can't see it if you don't know him, don't know the type, but he's always so goddamn afraid of losing control.

There are times when I almost like the bastard. Like now, when we're sticky-sweet-sweaty, nearly sated, and tangled in his bed. He's just laying against me, fingers tracing the scars criss-crossing my body, breath light against my neck. He's never asked me where I got them and I've never bothered telling him. It doesn't matter. He's got his own scars too, though not nearly as many as me. There's this big ugly one across the top of his left thigh, like someone tried to detach his entire leg from where it joins the rest of his body. I touch it gently, strangely drawn to the different texture. Facinating, the stories his skin tells. He doesn't react but I'm feeling tolerant and kind of curious right now, so I ask him where the scar is from.

He looks down at my thumb caressing the thing and shrugs. "Just some idiot with a katana," he tells me, like being attacked with a big knife is a normal everyday occurance. I raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugs again.

"He was going for the femoral artery," he says, and his fingers trace down his inner thigh like he has to show me where it is. "He wasn't very good with the sword, though, so he swung right and down instead of left and up. Still left a pretty good gash." He shrugs a third time and I fight a wave of irritation. "If he'd known how to do a proper upstroke, I wouldn't be here right now." He grimaces mildly, the corners of his mouth drawing in. "Normally, I'm better at defending myself but I had a broken arm, at the time."

He breaks off and looks at me. I meet his eyes and for a moment I understand why Dorei's always talking about falling into them, drowning in them, how it's like running through the forest. But then the moment's over and I'm on top of him again, mouthing his ear, sucking on that stupid earring of his before I go back to sucking at his mouth because I'm suddenly craving a good hard kiss. For some reason I really want to feel him wanting me right now, want him shuddering and moaning against me. I want to make him lose control. I want to let him know that I own him, just a little bit.


END.

Notes: Second attempt at writing Seta. I was going for subtle irony and a better look at how I characterize him in my head. I'm not sure if I succeeded, eheh. XD