Fragments of Love: A ZaintSee Collection

own me, make me yours

Fingers slowly reached out for the fabric, touch fleeting as if scared it'd be tainted. But no, it wasn't fear that made the hesitance, but rather a kind of jolting emotion that passed through his entire body, shivering at the name etched on the cloth, images of himself wearing it. He was his own person, but the thought of being someone's, being Saint's, had him closing his eyes and biting his lip as it sent him into a desired frenzy he didn't know he had for. But did he really not know?

Scenes flashed before him, the many times of being reduced at the mercy of his lover, the possessive touches left in wake, the owning words that engulfed him, made him feel wanted and warm and loved.

No. He did know.

Zee knew that he wanted to be owned. Claimed.

It wasn't something that people would think of. It wasn't even how a person would own a pet. It was the thought that someone loved you so, that understood your need to belong, that they'd stake their claim over you – to let everyone know just who you are with. It wasn't a power play really, because in everything, you are equals because both have the need to claim and be claimed and it won't work if one didn't understood the other's needs.

Still, Zee felt repressed, didn't feel like letting this part of himself be expressed. A voice inside his head told him it wouldn't matter, that Saint understood and he knew it was true. Saint knew everything. Yet, he ignored it, ignored his own need and pushed it to the very back, into the depths of his head. He didn't want to acknowledge it, the doubt clouding his mind. But seeing the silky choker, one he could fondly recall the first time it was worn. The first time it was on white milky skin that told everyone who was Saint, as he stood on his debut stage. The first time that his need had arose, years of hiding forgotten, and he had been surprised at his reaction that he had a hard time distracting himself from it.

Now, a year after that day, it was staring right back at him, mocking him, enticing him. It was calling to him the same way the first time. He wanted to wear it. He needed to wear it.

Zee's throat felt dry. He felt hot underneath his clothes despite only wearing a tee and some lose jeans. His head fed him all kinds of scenarios, what if's on if he acted on his impulses. His ears were ringing, felt like he could hear every little thing, from the whir of the washer, the usually quiet whoosh of the air conditioning, even the sweat that dropped from his forehead. He was hyperaware of how his hand seemed to finally close the tiny distance and he felt the silk ribbon, the block letters seemingly bigger, until his fingers picked up the light choker.

It somehow felt heavy, the implication of what he was about to do, what he's been wanting since the very first moment. As if in slow motion, he brought it up, eyes boring holes into it, but then suddenly, a door echoed open, followed by a voice looking for him, and just as quickly, he dropped the choker back into its hiding place, closed the box and slammed the drawer close. Breathing ragged, he immediately stepped out of their walk-in closet, just as the owner of the accessory piece came in, smiling.

"P'Zee, there you are." Saint skipped over to him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, and even as his heart was rapidly beating at being almost caught, he pressed into it desperately, needing assurance almost even if Saint didn't know what he was up to then.

Saint didn't mind, only cupping his face, thumb pressing into his throat for a second before pulling away. Zee whined.

The younger looked at him closely, "Are you okay?"

Zee blinked, before coughing nervously, going around Saint and out their bedroom. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

As he walked back to their living room, he could feel the burning stare of curiosity and suspiciousness from his boyfriend. Zee bit his lip before deciding to get some water for his dry throat. Getting a bottle from the fridge, he leaned against the counter and took a swig, watching as Saint leaned over the island with his hands clasped together on it.