by taitofan

Rated PG-13 for yaoi

Disclaimer: If I owned Star Ocean 3, the four optional characters would have been mandatory, Sophia would have pulled an Aerith, Melt would have done more, and AlbelxFayt would have been canon. None of that happened, and thus, I don't own it.

Author's notes: I…I just don't know. The idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave until it was written. The style is one I can never recall using, so I apologize if it isn't as finely tuned as anything else I've done. Let's see… This takes places probably a few years after the game. No real set time though, so hey, imagine it in-game if it doesn't squick you out. Really, this is nothing but a not-quite-vaguely smutty PWP/somewhat introspection fic. Going through towns all the time and noting down new dialogue inspired this. It's a bit dark and focuses on only one character trait, but…I think it does its job. Let's hope you don't go for your pitchforks at the end… And before you ask, yes, this is supposed to confuse you. You'll see why, but if it helps, keep in mind that this is only in one character's POV.

Flames do nothing but make me laugh, although I'll listen to any CC you have. Please read, review, and enjoy! Finished 08-11-07

Flesh upon flesh—both bodies slick with a passion-induced perspiration. One set of lips roaming every inch of skin, the other whimpering needy pleas. Nimble fingers teasing the skin of his inner thighs; blunt nails digging into slender shoulder blades, if only to stay in touch with reality. Knowledge in both minds that they were alone, the doors were locked, and they wouldn't be disturbed for hours.

"Tell me what you want."

"Y-you of course!"


Not a good enough answer. The one below him…he belonged to him, mind, body and soul. He was his toy, his puppet. He danced for his amusement. No, not a good enough answer…

"P-please! Just…just…"

"Just what?"

"You know!"

The talented fingers near pale thighs were gone. He stood up to leave. Such impudence his young one had… Ah well, he'd break him of it soon enough. He'd soon learn who it was pulling his strings.

"Wait, don't go! I…I'm sorry, okay? Just, please…"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"…Touch me."

Slow steps back to the bed. He was a kind master, if the mood struck, and he believed good puppets could be rewarded. And what a pretty marionette he possessed! So eager to please… And oh so resilient as well. This one wouldn't break easily, oh no. It was a perfect combination. Like his own needy little slave…

"Touch you, you say? I was touching you. Can't you be more specific?"

"Why can't ya just quit being so difficult already?"

"…Wrong answer."

Dark eyes, almost black, widened as he turned to leave again. No. He needed this; he needed him. Without him he was nothing, he'd always been nothing. And now they'd gone too far. Turning back, taking their relationship back to its previous platonic state, was no longer an option. His puppet craved his praise, his touch, his kiss, everything, far too much to let him leave now… He wasn't the type to give in, but for all of that, he'd bend his will as necessary. Whatever it took to keep him there, with him, was what he would do. Such a predictable little toy he owned…

"No, I'm sorry! You can't leave though! Anything—I'll do anything! Just stay, make me yours. I wanna be yours!"


"Yes, forever yours, all yours. Please…"

It was complete. The seed had been planted long ago, and his plan had finally come to fruition. He had learned his place…his place underneath him, just as any good puppet should be. He stayed—he needed to take what was so rightfully his.

"My my, look at this… You certainly are my excitable young boy, aren't you?"

"Lezard, please, hurry…"

"Patience dear brother. You shall be mine soon enough…"

Of course, he already was, and both of them knew it. He was his puppet master, and his older brother, the willing doll. It was wrong, oh, his puppet knew it was wrong, but everything about him—his voice, his haughty attitude, his promises for sweet pleasure—was a temptation for the boy. His tail curled around a tanned leg in an act of possession, but it was unnecessary. His toy wasn't going anywhere, even if he had wanted to. This was an addiction that he couldn't shake.

And as Lezard finally gave Lucien what he wanted, the smirk never once leaving his face, they both decided that they could live with their sin.