Chapter Four: The Collar Beneath the Skin
Part I – The First No
It began in the hallway—between first period and second, when the corridor swelled with the low thunder of boyish chaos. Backpacks slammed into walls. Laughter rang in shards. Someone shoved someone else into a locker, and the whole world cracked into noise.
Luca moved like he always did—quietly. Avoiding eye contact. Shoulders tucked. That morning, he'd worn pants, but they clung to him all the same. The fabric hugged where it shouldn't. He walked carefully, trying not to draw attention, but his very existence made that impossible.
They watched him anyway.
Not everyone. But enough.
Whispers trailed behind him. Some mocking. Some curious. And some—some made his skin burn without touching him.
But Marcus didn't whisper.
Marcus didn't need to.
He was already standing near the water fountain when Luca turned the corner, leaning against the wall like it had been built to frame him. His arms were crossed. His black eyes already locked on him. The air around him always seemed a little stiller. A little heavier.
Luca tried to pretend he didn't notice. He tried to keep walking.
"Luca."
The name was spoken low. Not shouted. But it cut through the noise like a bell. Luca's stomach tightened.
He stopped.
"Come here," Marcus said.
Luca froze in place, glancing quickly around. There were boys everywhere—crowding, laughing, watching.
He turned slightly. "I'm going to class."
Marcus pushed off the wall. "I said come here."
Luca swallowed.
His body moved before his voice caught up.
He stopped just short of Marcus's reach, eyes on the floor.
Marcus smiled—but it wasn't kind. It was slow, knowing, edged in teeth.
"Pick that up."
Luca followed Marcus's eyes—there was a pen lying near his boot. Someone else's, maybe. It didn't matter.
Luca blinked. "That's not mine."
"I didn't ask whose it was."
Silence.
The hallway buzzed on around them. Boys passed. One of them slowed, watching.
Luca shook his head once, voice barely audible. "Why?"
Marcus's smile vanished.
"Because I told you to."
Luca hesitated.
Marcus stepped forward—not fast, not loud—but with a presence that turned the air molten.
"Pick it up."
"I—"
"Now."
The word cracked like a whip. Heads turned.
Luca's knees weakened.
He hated this.
He hated being seen.
He hated how much his body moved anyway.
He bent down, picked up the pen with trembling fingers, and stood back up. His face was burning.
Marcus leaned in, voice close to his ear. "Good boy."
Luca's throat constricted. He dropped the pen into Marcus's waiting hand.
Marcus didn't look at the pen.
He looked at him.
"You hesitate again, and I'll give you something real to be embarrassed about. Understand?"
Luca nodded, silent.
Marcus tilted his head. "Say it."
Luca's mouth opened. "I understand."
"Louder."
"I understand."
"Atta boy."
Marcus walked away then—casually, like it hadn't been anything at all.
But Luca just stood there, fingers curled, heart hammering, the echo of that phrase—good boy—ringing in his skull like a bruise.
And the worst part?
The worst part was how something in his chest thrummed from hearing it.
Part II – The Bending Point
Luca tried to move through the rest of the day like he hadn't just been humiliated in the hallway. Like Marcus's voice hadn't wrapped around his neck in front of half the sophomore dorms. Like the words "good boy" weren't tattooed on his brain in black fire.
But it followed him.
In the library, he reached for a book on the top shelf—and flinched when someone walked behind him.
In the commons, he kept his eyes down the whole time, barely eating.
In class, his pen kept tapping nervously against the desk, like his fingers didn't trust silence anymore.
He was jumpier.
Quieter.
More obedient.
And Marcus? Marcus didn't even need to say anything now. Just looking at Luca across a room made his skin tighten.
In history class, he dropped his notebook, and before he could bend to pick it up, Marcus's foot slid it toward him—under the desk. Just a flick. Casual.
Luca looked up.
Marcus tilted his head slightly, mouthing two words:
Get it.
Luca obeyed.
Without protest. Without question. Without thinking.
That night in the dorm hall, Marcus brushed past him at the water fountain—no hello, no excuse—just a rough shoulder against his back and a murmur: "Try walking straighter."
No one else heard it. But it hit like thunder in Luca's chest.
He didn't reply. He just nodded.
Later, when the quiet finally returned, he thought maybe he'd have time to breathe.
He hadn't even made it back to his room before someone else was waiting outside his door.
Ezra.
He leaned against the frame like he'd been there for a while, arms crossed, curls slightly damp from a shower. His lips curled into that half-smile he wore like a mask—boyish, kind, a little too smooth.
"Hey," he said, straightening. "You've been MIA all day."
"I've been around," Luca said softly.
Ezra tilted his head. "You okay?"
Luca didn't answer.
Ezra didn't wait.
"Can I come in?"
Luca hesitated.
"I just want to talk. I'm not gonna push you or anything."
It was a lie. Luca felt it. But he opened the door anyway.
Ezra walked in like he'd been invited—like he belonged there. He sat on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him.
Luca didn't move.
Ezra looked him over. "You seem tense."
Luca shrugged.
Ezra's voice dropped slightly. "Is it that guy? The tall one—Marcus?"
Luca looked away. "It's nothing."
Ezra leaned forward. "Luca, I know what guys like him are. They play games. Power games. And they look at someone like you and think—"
He stopped himself.
Luca stared at the floor.
Ezra softened. "You deserve better than that."
"I don't know what I deserve," Luca muttered.
Ezra moved closer.
Too close.
"Look at me."
Luca did.
Ezra's hand came to rest gently on Luca's knee. "You don't have to do what he says. You're not some pet."
Luca flinched at the word. Pet.
His throat burned.
"You're strong," Ezra said, voice dipping. "You just don't see it yet."
Luca said nothing.
Ezra leaned closer. "You don't have to be alone."
His hand moved higher. Just slightly.
Luca didn't stop him. Not because he wanted it—but because he didn't know what resistance was supposed to look like anymore.
Later, after Ezra left—after that quiet half-embrace and the almost-kiss that Luca didn't return but didn't dodge either—Luca sat in the dark with his head in his hands.
He wasn't afraid of Ezra. Not exactly.
But he wasn't safe either.
And neither of them made him feel whole.
One tried to protect him.
The other tried to own him.
And Luca didn't know which felt worse… or more real.
He lay back on the bed, breath shallow, eyes stinging, body tired in places he didn't know could ache.
And still—beneath it all—he waited.
Waited for the knock he hadn't earned.
The voice he couldn't resist.
Part III – The Visit
The knock came after midnight.
Three slow, spaced-out taps.
Luca didn't move at first. He stared at the ceiling, heart already climbing up into his throat. He didn't need to ask who it was. He felt Marcus before the door even opened. Felt the pull, the pressure, the low heat that always came before he filled the room.
When he finally rose to his feet, he did it without thinking—body loose with dread and something darker. The floor was cold. He padded across it quietly, bare legs exposed beneath his long sleep shirt, heart pounding harder with each step.
He opened the door.
And Marcus walked in.
No greeting. No smile. Just muscle and heat and darkness in motion.
He was shirtless again, wearing only dark athletic pants that clung to his powerful thighs. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breath. His scent hit first—sweat, spice, clean skin. Primal.
He shut the door behind him. Click.
Silence.
Luca took a step back.
Marcus stared at him—hungry. Calm.
"You've been quiet," he said finally, voice low and sharp. "Been ignoring me?"
Luca shook his head. "No."
Marcus stepped closer. "Then why've you been letting that little curly-haired leech crawl all over you?"
Luca didn't answer.
"I asked a question."
"I didn't know what else to do," Luca whispered.
Marcus grabbed him by the jaw—firm, but not brutal—and forced his gaze up.
"Yes, you did," Marcus said. "You were waiting for me."
Luca's chest shuddered. "I was scared."
"You still are."
A pause.
"But now you're scared of the wrong thing."
Luca's breath caught as Marcus's grip slid down to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Their bodies almost touched. The heat radiating off Marcus's bare chest made the air between them thicken.
"I should walk away," Luca murmured, weakly.
Marcus leaned down, lips grazing his cheek—not kissing, not yet. Just claiming space. "Then say it."
Luca's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
"Say it, and I'll leave," Marcus whispered.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
His hands clenched at his sides. His knees trembled. His body screamed to move—and instead, he leaned closer.
That was all Marcus needed.
With one hand, Marcus gripped the hem of Luca's shirt and began to lift it slowly, eyes locked on his.
Luca didn't stop him.
The fabric slipped up and over his thighs, waist, chest—and then off, dropped onto the floor like it had never belonged.
Luca stood there, bare, breath stuttering, lips parted.
"You've been dying to be wanted," Marcus said, voice thicker now, heavy with heat. "So I'm going to show you what that means."
He backed Luca up slowly until the back of his knees touched the bed.
"Lie down."
Luca hesitated. Then obeyed.
Marcus climbed over him, slow and purposeful, his body eclipsing the light. He kissed down Luca's chest—open-mouthed, hungry, tasting him like he'd earned it.
Luca arched, breath catching with each trail of heat Marcus left behind.
When Marcus reached his ear again, he whispered, "You're mine now. Say it."
Luca's voice shook, but it came out.
"I'm yours."
Marcus smiled against his skin.
And then he took him.
Not rushed. Not cruel. But thorough, intentional, hungry. Every inch of Luca's skin was touched, tasted, claimed. Marcus pressed his thick heavy dick into Luca's tight little asshole until he made himself at home, buried deeply, snuggly fit. Luca let out a loud, shaky vulnerable moan as his body shook with overwhelm... and Marcus began to fuck him without pretense. He moved like a man starved, mapping him with his mouth, his hands, his hips—each movement designed to make Luca forget how to say no.
"Oh Fuck Luca..!! Yesss..! this wha tyou here fooor!" he growled bending Luca to his will.
And when Luca fully gave in—moaning, writhing, trembling under him—it wasn't just his body that surrendered.
It was his will.
He clung to Marcus like a tether. He let himself be guided, moved, possessed. Marcus was spreading him out in a way he's never known, and his mind was gone as he was used without care or concern, feeding all over Marcus's needs.
Marcus reveled inside Luca's tight boy hole.
Not gently. But deeply. Mounting him, flipping him, riding him... smacking that silky fat ass. Noticing that Luca's mouth was open, his tongue hanging out as his face was completely flushed. Giving his cute countenance a lewd expression that drove him even crazier.
The room filled with heat, clapping and breath under the low sound of surrender... and dominance.
And when it was over—when they lay there, Luca's body still singing with the memory of Marcus's name—he didn't cry. He didn't speak.
He just lay in Marcus's arms, eyes wide, heart thudding, hole filled.
Because for the first time… he felt like he didn't belong to himself anymore.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to.