Tell me when will you be mine?
Tell me quando, quando, quando
We can share a love divine
Please don't make me wait again

When will you say yes to me
Tell me quando,quando, quando
You mean happiness to me
Oh my lover tell me when

Every moment's a day
Every day seems a lifetime
Let me show you the way
To a joy beyond compare

-Quando, Quando, Quando, Alberto Testa/ Ervin Drake/Tony Renis

How does desire warp a person? When does love lapse into obsession, the need to possess another completely?

To what lengths is someone willing to have a person entirely?

Craig supposed he was on his way to finding out; a niggling need having wormed its way into his heart years ago. It had taken up residence and refused to leave, and he had come to accept it over time; why not test the limits of its possibilities?

He walked into the office and ignored its opulence, its overbearing need to prove something. Why should he be impressed? Isn't this what he should expect? Dim lighting and a huge cherry desk sitting in the middle of a sea of scarlet carpet; sconces lining the walls covered over with pearl and carmine stones? Glancing around he could see that the room was almost at the top of the world, raised up and overlooking the city; tiny people scurrying like insects down below and not even aware they were being watched. He smirked. So many people unaware that they were constantly being observed, much like the object of his desire.

Floor to ceiling windows created a dramatic picture of the city's skyline, and the stars had been pushed back into the darkness. The stars always seemed to disappear when he entered this room, especially when he finally came face to face with him; knowing eyes appraising him and almost dismissing Craig all at once. No matter; he was just a means to an end. Wasn't everyone, really?

"You've come back," a musical voice spoke into the silence. It was filled with jagged teeth and dark promises, red blood and misery; how could it be so beautiful, too? "That must mean you've made a decision."

Craig came forward, not feeling any of the fear he probably should in a situation like this. He'd never been one for fear or excessive emotion, not really. That's why his preoccupation with the object of his desire was so frustrating; it arrested him, overtook him, and try as he might he couldn't shake it. It stayed with him like the skin stretched over his bones, like the grey eyes in his skull that looked out at the world and regarded it with deep contempt. This person was in his blood, swimming there like a poison and filling him with a need that strayed outside of himself; completely foreign and contrary to his fundamental makeup.

"I suppose I have," he replied, monotone voice in sharp contrast with his counterpart's. He didn't continue, opting instead to stare at the dark haired gentleman in repose behind the massive desk.

"You need to be sure," the arresting voice replied, slightly amused. Craig had always been a human of few words, a fact he rather admired. If only all mortals could be so possessed of brevity; truly, it was a beautiful quality. "If you aren't, this won't work." He shrugged, fiddling with a glass of what could very possibly be wine, though in the muted lighting it could very well be a goblet of gore. Who knew? "Not that it makes a difference to me either way, of course; so long as I get my pound of flesh."

"That's all I want too," Craig replied, his hand clenching into a fist inside of his pocket. That's all he had ever wanted; the redhead for his own but always just outside of his grasp. He could taste that porcelain skin, see the green stitched through the irises that reminded him of forests and sea water in remote parts of the world; crazy, romantic fantasies that just weren't him. Moisture collected in his mouth at the prospect of sliding his hands over such delicacy, almost making him feel weak, and he was never weak.

Damien smiled because he could feel the shift in the air, could smell the arousal emanating from the thin, handsome man standing before him. He could also sense his desperation, his need, his obsession, and it thrilled him to no end. Yes, this was going to be fun, and even if Craig didn't understand all of the ramifications of his decision, Damien certainly did, and it filled him with such potent excitement he could barely stand it.

"Well, then," he said, standing up and coming around the desk. "We can negotiate then, can't we?" Damien peered at Craig again, studying him. "He must be very important to you, this focus of your attention." He thought a moment, pretending to ruminate even though he already knew the answer. The name was written on every wall in Craig's mind, emblazoned in searing red like crushed pomegranates. "What was his name again?"

Craig drew back, almost like he was unwilling to relinquish this bit of information; keeping it greedily to his breast and pressed into the tissues of his heart. Giving a name was giving a piece away, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.

"Kyle," he whispered, and the name was like the richest chocolate dripping over his tongue; pure and sweet, but oh so dark.