JUSTIN'S POV

It has to be him; you know it has to be.  It smells like him, you convince yourself, and when the footsteps start to travel around the perimeter of the bed, you forget to breathe.  He touches you, his fingertips skating over the back of your head like you're some shirt on a rack he might want to buy.  He walks on by, headed to the wall because his footsteps stop going forward in that familiar clip; he's moving side to side.  After a few noises you can't quite identify, you recognize the distinct sound of metal wheels crossing the concrete floor.  It's a chair, and he parks it in front of your head.  You hear the cushion compress when he sits down, and then you feel that quick, ecstatic thrill you get when Brian snaps your collar around your neck.

It's him.

BRIAN'S POV

"You doing okay?" you ask him quietly, your fingers trailing over his so that he'll forgo the fists he's formed and stop strangling the sheets.  He nods and opens his hands, clearly reaching for yours.  "I want to talk to you about a dilemma I'm having," you say.

He squeezes your fingers, "Okay."

"This past week, all those times I watched you come down in this room and jerk off without me and without permission...you see, I have to punish you for that.  You understand that, correct?"

"Yes."

"See, I thought that putting you on a leash and making you eat, lick ass, and fuck like a dog would be that punishment, but I'll be damned if that didn't feel like punishment at all, did it?"

"No," he says, reluctantly.

You take your hand back and stroke the back of his head, "I never thought I'd have to go further than this morning to teach you a lesson.  Because you're not learning on your own, right?  Can we agree on that?"

"Yes," and there's actual sorrow somewhere in his voice.

"Well, don't be too hard on yourself.  You're an entitled, bitchy little twat, but we both know you were born that way, right?"

"Right."

"And you know that if you were any less entitled or less bitchy, we'd have an even bigger problem on our hands, wouldn't we?"  He laughs--just a little--so you ask, "Is there something funny about that?"

"Sort of."

"Really?"  His candor surprises you.  "What's so funny?  Enlighten me."

"Well," he begins and you can hear the regret shadowing each word as they leave his lips anyway, "That's the part of me you're most attracted to; you always have...been."  And then he adds--quickly--because he can feel his stock taking a nose dive, "I mean, just...in my opinion."

"Oh, okay...so you're under the impression that your opinion matters here?"

Justin starts to swallow hard and then tries to stop that from happening, so his words sound like a frog with a trachea, "No...I'm not.  I mean, it doesn't."

"You know, you have this unique ability to make every situation you're in markedly worse.  Have you ever noticed that?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't solve those kinds of problems so you're on your own with that."

"I know."

"Okay, that's enough conversation for now.  I want you to pull your knees in so your bottom is exactly where I like it, scoot back to the edge of the bed, and keep your pretty face in the sheets.  Can you handle that?"

"Yes," he says but he's still gripping your hand so you have to almost pry it away.  He gets into position as you walk around the bed and head for the closet.