Dan stepped out of the grand event building, his steps echoing softly in the quiet night. The cool air brushed his face, offering a brief respite from the warm, crowded atmosphere of the party.
As he reached the sidewalk, a sleek black car came into view. Its glossy surface gleamed under the soft glow of the streetlights, and a driver in a dark suit stood patiently beside it. The car looked like it was waiting for him.
Dan approached the vehicle, taking in the smooth lines of the car. The driver immediately noticed his approach and quickly opened the rear passenger door. Dan's heart rate quickens slightly at the sight of the open car door.
He glanced from the car to the driver, who was waiting patiently. Dan paused for a moment, contemplating, before ultimately stepping towards the car and sliding into the backseat. But before he could get in some grabbed his arm, stopping from getting in.
Dan's heart skipped a beat as he felt a firm hand grasping his arm, preventing him from getting into the car. He turned his head, his gaze falling on the familiar figure that was holding him back.
"Warren."
Warren's hand was like an iron grip, his fingers digging into Dan's arm, holding him in place.
Dan's eyes widened slightly as he gazed at Warren. His expression was intense, his eyes fixed on Dan with an unwavering stare. There was a mix of emotions in those eyes - a mixture of anger, possessiveness, and concern.
"Where are you going?" Warren's voice was low and steady, his grip on Dan's arm not relaxing.
Dan let out a soft exhale, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel the tension emanating from Warren's body, and could almost hear the possessive undercurrent in his tone.
"Home..." he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.
Warren's fingers tightened around Dan's arm, his jaw clenched. "Home?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "With who?"
Dan could sense the subtle edge in Warren's voice, the hint of jealousy that laced the question. He knew he had to choose his words carefully.
He gently tried to pull his arm away from Warren's grip, but his fingers only tightened, holding on even more firmly.
"Alone," he said quietly, his eyes meeting Warren's. "I'm going home alone."
Warren's eyes darkened in response to Dan's answer. The firmness of his grip on Dan's arm lessened slightly, but he wasn't letting go just yet.
"Don't bullshit me," he retorted bluntly. "I know where you were all night. With Eric." The name was like a bitter taste on his tongue.
Dan tried again to pull his arm away, but Warren's grip was unyielding.
"So what if I was with Eric?" Dan retorted. "It doesn't concern you."
Warren's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and intense. The mention of Eric had obviously triggered something within him.
"Oh, doesn't it?" he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then why were you glued to him the entire evening? Holding his hand, being the perfect little companion."
Dan couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at Warren's possessive words. He tried to pull his arm away once more, but it was to no avail.
"You don't own me, Warren," he responded, his voice edged with irritation. "I can spend time with who I want."
Warren's gaze narrowed, his jaw clenching tightly. "I do own you," he shot back, his voice cold and dominant. "You belong to me, and I don't like seeing you with other men, especially not someone like Eric."
Dan's cheeks burned at Warren's words, his anger starting to boil over. "I'm not a possession," he fired back, trying to wrench his arm free from Warren's grip. "I'm my own person, and I'm tired of your possessive behavior since the very beginning!"
Warren smirked slightly at Dan's frustration, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness and amusement. He didn't release his grip on the Dan's arm, but his fingers did loosen a bit.
"Oh, I know you're tired," he said, his tone almost condescending. "But you forget, Dan, that you're mine. You've been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you and the moment we spent together. And I'm not about to let any other man lay a finger on what's mine."
Dan bristled at Warren's possessive words, the anger in him only growing. He tried again to wrench his arm away, but with no success.
"I'm not yours," he retorted, his voice heated. "I never was. Sure, okay, we slept together, but that doesn't mean you own me."
Warren's smirk widened at Dan's defiant tone, his hand still firmly holding Dan's arm.
"Oh, sweetheart, that's where you're wrong," he said, his voice filled with arrogance. "When I claim something, I don't let go easily. And you, my dear, are very much claimed by me."
Warren's eyes darkened at Dan's outburst, his smirk slowly fading into a cold stare. He clearly didn't like the challenge in Dan's words.
"You're right," he said, his tone dangerously quiet. "You're not a toy. You're much, much more than that. You're my obsession, my prize, my possession."
The driver got out of the car then grabbed Warren's arm. "Excuse me sir, this is inappropriate for touching my boss."
Warren's gaze flicked from Dan to the driver, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. He reluctantly loosened his grip on Dan's arm, though his fingers still lingered for a moment before dropping completely.
"It's none of your business," he snapped, his tone dismissing. "This is a private matter."
Dan took the opportunity to take a step back from Warren, thankful for the intervention of the driver. He rubbed the area on his arm where Warren had held him too tightly, feeling the lingering hurt from the man's grip.
The driver moved between them, facing Warren directly, his expression stern. "Sir, I must insist that you step back from Mr. Smith."
Warren's annoyance turned into irritation. He glared at the driver, the muscles in his jaw tensing as if he was considering further action. But he begrudgingly took a step back, his eyes fixed on Dan even as he complied.
Warren's jaw tightened at the driver's firm tone, his eyes flickering with irritation. He didn't like being told what to do, especially in a situation like this, but he knew arguing would get him nowhere.
He took a couple of steps back, his gaze never leaving Dan's defiant form. "Fine," he said tersely, his voice edged with barely concealed anger.
Warren watched as Dan slid into the car, his eyes never leaving him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the anger and possessiveness still burning within him. He wanted to grab hold of Dan, to pull him back out of that car and make him understand who he belonged to.
But the driver remained between them, a barrier preventing Warren from getting any closer. Warren took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
Warren's eyes followed Dan's every move as he settled into the car's backseat. The sight of Dan in that car, about to drive off with someone else, only fueled his possessive anger further. It took great restraint on his part to remain in place, especially with the driver standing between them.
He could only watch as the driver closed the car door, separating Warren from Dan. The sound of the door shutting only echoed Warren's frustration and possessiveness.
Warren's shoulders tensed as the car door slammed shut, Dan disappearing from sight. The sound only served to make him more irritable, his possessive instincts going into overdrive.
He wanted to push past the driver, to reach out and grab the door handle, to pull Dan back out. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to control himself, even though every fiber in his being was telling him to claim what was his.
_____________
The car is eerily quiet. Only the low hum of the engine filling the space, the tension hanging heavy in the air.
Dan is seated in the backseat, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. His chest rises and falls with each measured breath, eyes fixed on the back of the driver's seat as the scenery outside speeds by.
He can still feel the residual sting on his arm where Warren's fingers had dug into his skin, leaving a mark both physical and emotional.
The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, a hint of concern on his face.
Dan noticed the driver's gaze. "What's your name?" Dan asked.
The driver looked into the rearview mirror, his eyes briefly meeting Dan's gaze. As Dan voiced his question, George quickly responded, a subtle hint of surprise in his voice.
"Wilson, sir," he said, his tone formal but not unkind. "George Wilson."
As the driver answered, the car slowed down, coming to a stop at a red light. The silence in the vehicle felt oppressive after the events outside the event hall, and George seemed keenly conscious of it.
Dan nodded. "Don't say anything what happened earlier to Mr. Henderson." He ordered, coldly.
George's expression grew subtly uncomfortable as Dan spoke, his tone firm and cold. He shifted slightly in his seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter.
"Understood, sir," he replied, his voice holding a tinge of wariness. "I won't say anything to Mr. Henderson about it."