Posession is Nine-Tenths

Title: Possession is Nine-Tenths

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Silver Dragon. I'm just playing around a bit.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: masturbation, voyeurism (sort of)

Notes: Thanks to my wonderful betas, Mina Lightstar and Lisa. The suckiness is all my fault, not theirs. This is partly from the discussion on the MT list about FK being a control freak. And partly to show that I still love FK, even if he's a brat. And because Billie's a sexy bitch, even moreso now that we know he's got a British accent.

Feedback, including constructive criticism, is highly welcome.

Lightning flashes again, and Forcekill lurches for the door. He's running down the hall, harsh, gasping breaths rocketing from his throat, and, God, but he must look like a fool...but it won't matter as long as he can find Billie. Turns a corner and starts calling his friend's name. Around the next corner and there he is, looking up, startled, from a roll of paper towels.

"Forcekill?"

Across the room before he can think about it, and he's got Billie's shirt bunched in his hands. Forcekill is shaking like a child, but he tells himself it doesn't matter. It's okay for Billie to see him like this, for him to bury this clawing fear in the warmth of Billie's chest. Because Billie is his. His in a way that Forcekill knows means that his weakness won't go beyond this room.

It's been that way for a while, now. Maybe since the first time they met, but Forcekill's only known it since that night two years ago.

The night he saw.

He had slipped down the hallway to grab something from the kitchen, and Billie's door had been open just enough to let the light spill out.

He heard his name, barely uttered in Billie's softly accented voice. So he looked in the crack of the door, ready to ask his buddy what he wanted and...well.

Saw Billie, soft-edged and golden in the light from his bedside lamp, with the sheets and his boxers rucked down below his knees, moaning and turning his face into the pillow. I should go, fuck, I shouldn't be watching this, but Forcekill stood, suddenly fascinated by the sharp jut of Billie's hip and then his mouth, open and wet like overripe fruit. Billie's hand moved slowly up and down his cock, lingering for a second at the tip to tease the slit. Long fingers tightened, speeding up, up and down over and over again. The rolling of Billie's hips was a steady beat that Forcekill could feel echoed in his chest.

Billie's other hand slipped down to join the first, and he fisted his cock with both hands for a moment before his moving his other hand down. Rolled his balls in his palm for a moment before lifting them and sliding down just that tiny, crucial bit farther. One finger circled the hole that Forcekill couldn't really see from the doorway, just teasing around the edge before slipping just the barest bit inside. Billie had splayed his legs even wider, giving a ragged gasp that had maybe tried its hardest to be a word. And that one finger pushed, just a little farther, and pulled back out. Every time it made its way in Forcekill saw Billie's knuckle tighten, the tendons in his hand flexing just so, like he might have been crooking his finger inside. And every time Billie would do that, fucking himself with that one finger, Forcekill winced.

But it had to be something like good because every time his hips would buck and he'd whimper in this way that made Forcekill want to jack himself and run like hell all at the same time.

And, God, Billie was licking his lips, lost to the world, to everything but his hands and the images in his head. His accent different than Forcekill had ever heard it, dripping slow and rich like honey with the same word again and again.

"Forcekill."

Somehow more raw with him just standing here watching than anything with any of the girls he'd fucked around with. Because this was Billie, his friend. Because he could drive Billie to this without teasing, without gifts or words or anything at all, really.

And when Billie had tensed and choked back a cry, hips stuttering frantically before finally settling, Forcekill made himself let go of the doorframe. Turned away and continued to the kitchen, grabbing what he had gone for in the first place.

It had been different after that.

Because he knew.

So now Forcekill shakes with the force of the storm outside, and knows that Billie's hands won't be long in comforting him. That Billie's hands won't leave him trying to carve out their imprints with razors. Lets Billie see this, take it, and knows that it will never leave this room.

He can still hold his shame here, know what will come of it.

Because Billie is his.

**END**