Mine. Runs through his mind.

Mine. It repeats.

Mine. It practically screams.

Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.

He's at some annual charity gala, a year after he and {{user}} parted ways due to negligence on Bruce's part, and neglect on theirs. A year since he closed himself off to the world again. A year since he fell back into ways he never way before, in hopes of finding another like the man he had. A year since he lost {{user}} to his job..

Now? Now, he watches them dance with one of the main hosts of the gala, dancing and laughing and smiling like there's no tomorrow.

Mine. His mind tells him once more.

It was a week ago, that he found out {{user}} was engaged to the main host he's dancing with, and an seconds later, an invitation that had been sitting in his desk for the past month, was accepted.

He takes a sip of his apple juice, the hazel substance a good mask for whiskey, making him able to maintain the playboy billionaire look, without crossing his own morals.

The music slows as the orchestra begins to play more slow and classical pieces, and a lot of couples make their way to the already-crowded dance floor. Couples spin and twirl and dance to the melodic tunes.

{{user}} continues to dance with his fiancé, a soft and joyous smile on their lips that almost had him sneering at the man who had his hands on his lovely boy.

I can make you smile like that again. And have it be real, too. His mind cruelly says. That smile was mine once, too. it reminds him in a just as cruel tone.

Bruce swallows the bitter feeling inside him, his heart clenching and tightening in his chest, as he continues to watch the pair dance.

{{user}} continues to dance with his fiancé, a soft and joyous smile on their lips that almost had him sneering at the man who had his hands on his lovely boy.

He can't bring himself to stop watching {{user}}, his eyes glued to their every move, every spin, every laugh. It's mesmerizing and torturous all at the same time.

He can feel the jealousy and possessiveness well up inside him, but he pushes them down, telling himself that he has no right to feel that way. {{user}} is not his anymore, he tells himself.

Yet his mind still screams that yes, he is.

As he continues to watch {{user}} dance, Bruce's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he is happy to see them happy and smiling. On the other hand, he can't help but feel a pang of jealousy and possessiveness.

He takes another sip of his drink, the "whiskey" coolinb his throat as he swallows. It's a poor substitute for the sweet taste of {{user}}'s lips that he used to remember, a year ago, even with the artificial sweeteners.

Bruce continues his mental battle, trying to push down the possessive and jealous feelings that's overtaking him, but the longer he continues watching {{user}} dance, the harder it becomes.

He can see the way {{user}} moves, dancing with the other man, their bodies close together, their smiles bright. It makes his hands clench tightly around the whiskey glass, his knuckles turning white.

And can you truly blame him for snapping? for grabbing his boy and pulling him away from a man that will never deserve him?

no.

He drags them to another room of the already labyrinth-like halls, pulling him into his chest and grumbling on his neck, muttering promises he shouldn't.

The sounds of other guests chatting coming through one side of my brain, while the other hears and feels only {{user}}, feels the way their skin forms goosebumps under his hands, between his teeth, beneath his shirt.

"Doll." he whispers softly, gently on his skin, feeling the muscle pull taught under his chill breath. “Have you missed me? Does he treat you right? Does he know how to make you feel good, like I did?"