Part I – Not His Anymore
The light was soft when Luca woke—gold leaking through the blinds like a secret whispered against the sheets. His body stirred slowly, as if still caught in the haze of sleep, but something was different.
He was sore.
Not painfully—but deliciously. Every inch of him hummed with something low and deep, the ache of being held too tightly, kissed too hard, taken too thoroughly. His hips shifted beneath the sheets and the soreness bloomed again.
He blinked, dazed, unsure where he was for a moment.
Then he remembered.
His lips parted with the gasp of it.
Marcus.
The weight of him. The heat. The pressure of his voice in his ear. The way he had guided, gripped, entered him like he owned every cell of his skin.
Luca sat up slowly, the sheet falling to his waist.
He was naked.
Exposed to the morning and to himself.
His chest was marked—faint bite, small bruises, the ghost of fingers at his waist. A dark hickey bloomed low on his side like something planted and fed. He trailed his fingers over it and shivered.
It hadn't been gentle.
But it had been good.
So good it scared him.
He stood, legs still unsteady, and crossed to the mirror over the small dresser. The reflection hit him like a stranger.
His hair was messy. His eyes were distant. His skin bore the memory of everything that had happened—and still, something in his posture had changed. He didn't stand like prey anymore. He stood like something claimed.
He tilted his head, touching his shoulder where Marcus had gripped him hard enough to leave a red bloom. Then lower. Down his sides. His thighs.
And when his fingers reached between his legs—
A rush of heat shot through him.
He gasped and turned red, the reflection watching him blush.
He hadn't even touched himself... and he was already hard.
Just remembering it.
Just reliving the sound of Marcus's breath, the way he whispered "Mine" against his throat.
Luca didn't understand it.
Why it made him feel so good.
Why something so forceful, so rough, had made him feel so... seen.
He didn't have the words.
But his body did.
A shadow passed behind him.
He jumped.
Arms wrapped around his waist.
Firm. Possessive. Warm.
Marcus.
Luca stiffened—then melted almost instantly into the embrace.
Marcus's lips brushed against the side of his neck. "Morning, princess."
Luca's mouth opened, but nothing came out. His heart was hammering.
Marcus chuckled low. "You're already hard, aren't you?"
Luca turned redder, trying to cover himself.
Marcus didn't let him.
"You were so good for me last night," he murmured. "So tight. So fucking soft. You let me in like you were made for it."
Luca whimpered softly. His knees almost buckled.
Marcus pressed closer. "I've been inside you now. You realize that, right? There's no going back. You'll feel me for days."
Luca's eyes fluttered. His breath stuttered.
"I've ruined you for anyone else."
His hand slid lower. Luca gasped again, trembling under the pressure.
"I should let you get ready for class," Marcus whispered, voice all false innocence. "But..."
He spun Luca slowly in his arms, looking him up and down, smirking at his flushed face and helpless arousal.
"You're not going anywhere until I've had my fill."
"I..." Luca tried to speak, eyes hazy. "I have class in an hour."
Marcus leaned in, lips almost brushing his. "Then I better make it quick."
And without waiting for more, he lifted him—effortless, strong—and carried him back to the bed.
Luca's protest died on his tongue the moment his back hit the sheets.
Groans escaped his pink lips as his body opened again like it remembered him, like it wanted him.
And he gave in... raptured up in Marcus's grasp, not just marked, but claimed, and it felt like bliss
Part II – Walking funny
Luca didn't mean to walk differently.
He tried to move the same way he always had—quiet, careful, invisible—but his body wouldn't let him.
His thighs ached. His back was sore. His core still pulsed with the echo of last night and this morning, like Marcus had left behind some deep internal bruise—not painful, but present. A reminder. A seal.
He moved down the dorm hallway slowly, deliberately, but no matter how he tried to mask it, his stride was off.
Just slightly.
Just enough to make heads turn.
One boy nudged another and muttered something under his breath.
Another raised his eyebrows as Luca passed, lips curling into a smirk.
Even the usual teasing voices quieted, replaced by that strange, awkward silence—one that came from not knowing how far a joke could go when someone like Marcus was involved.
Luca kept his eyes forward, his face blank. But inside, he was burning.
He had been claimed—and everyone could see it.
By the time he reached the gym, he already felt Marcus's presence.
Not physically. Not yet.
But that pressure was there.
Like gravity.
And when he stepped into the locker room, the smell of sweat, soap, and hot air wrapped around him—and he knew.
He could feel Marcus behind him without looking.
Boys were changing. Shirts tossed. Towels flicked. Banter flew.
But the moment Marcus entered, everything shifted.
The energy in the room coiled. As if the air itself braced for what was coming.
Marcus didn't speak to anyone else.
He walked up behind Luca and stood close enough for their bodies to almost touch. He didn't say hello. Didn't ask anything.
He just dropped his gym bag beside Luca's feet and said, calmly:
"Fold my shirt."
Luca didn't hesitate.
He reached down, picked up the shirt Marcus had tossed lazily from his shoulder, and began folding it on the bench—carefully, reverently, like it mattered.
No one said anything.
A few boys glanced over.
Someone muttered, "Damn."
Marcus leaned over him as he folded. "You're learning."
Luca nodded once, head low.
"Shoes."
Luca moved without being told. He crouched, untied Marcus's sneakers, and lined them up at the foot of the bench. His knees grazed the tile. The position—submissive, obedient, exposed—made his chest tighten. But he didn't stop.
He didn't even think.
He just knew: this is what Marcus wanted from him.
And doing it made him feel owned.
And being owned made him feel... safe.
Marcus reached down, ruffling Luca's hair. Not hard—just enough to ruin it a little.
"Good boy," he murmured loud enough for others to hear.
Heat surged up Luca's neck.
Then came the locker.
"Strip."
Luca hesitated.
Marcus raised a brow.
"You're not shy anymore, are you?"
Luca swallowed. His fingers went to the hem of his shirt.
He pulled it off slowly, heart pounding. Then the pants. The moment they slipped past his hips, the faint marks on his sides were revealed.
A hickey near his hipbone. Fingertip bruises on his lower back.
One boy actually dropped his towel.
Marcus stepped closer and tugged at Luca's waistband briefly—playfully.
"Still sore?"
Luca's breath hitched. "Y-yeah."
Marcus smirked. "Good."
And then—he did something no one expected.
He leaned in, close to Luca's neck, and bit him. Not hard, but just enough. A deep kiss followed right after. Slow. Deliberate. Possessive.
The locker room went dead silent. Luca writhed in awkward pleasure, as his heart hammered within his chest. Marcus spared not moment, he slid his tongue into Luca's mouth, licking around dominantly, and smacked his ass.
Luca moaned in his mouth, that was set free into the silent room when Marcus pulled back, licking his bottom lip. "They should all know who you belong to."
Luca's knees nearly buckled, as he trembled, panting. His bottom lip quivered, glistening in the locker room light, coated in Marcus's saliva.
Someone whistled. Someone else laughed awkwardly.
But no one said a damn word to Marcus.
Because it was clear now.
Luca wasn't just his plaything.
He was Marcus's property.
And the boy didn't need a collar to prove it.