There was no sign of Ryan in any of the bunks and it was with mounting dread that the newly collared Brendon made his way to the back of the bus.  There was a small area back there where Ryan would often go to read when he wanted some alone time.  Brendon had only visited what he called “Ryan’s Geek Shack” once before, and that was only because he and Jon had realised it was by far the optimum place to hang their arses out of the window while they were on the freeway.

He tried the handle on the tiny wooden door that separated this section of the bus from the rest and found it unlocked.  He pushed forward and ducked his head to get through the small opening.  A fitted couch curved neatly to fit the shape of the end of the bus; it was deep and piled high with cushions.  There was a cosy rug on the floor and blinds pulled down over the large rear windscreen.  A single lamp provided the only lighting:  a strange orange glow created by the opaque lampshade.  Upon the couch, dressed in obscenely tight black jeans, long black leather boots and a tight black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, was Ryan.  He had been waiting for Brendon for some time, a fact that was clearly evident by the elaborate doodle that now adorned the right eye area of his face, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming.”  Ryan stated, the coldness that had laced his voice the previous night was gone and Brendon noted the fleeting flash of warmth in his friend’s eyes.

“I wasn’t sure I was either,” replied Brendon, “but here I am.”

“Jump up here.  I wanna talk to you.”  Ryan had that serious expression on his face that he got sometimes.  His eyes were focused and full of thoughts yet unspoken.  He patted the couch beside him and Brendon sat down, curling his legs underneath him so he could angle his body towards Ryan.  They sat in silence for a while as equals, and Brendon worried that Ryan had changed his mind.

“Bren,” said Ryan after a while, “do you know what you’re doing?  Here?  With me?”

“Uh…no…not really…”

“So why did you come?”

“Your note said…?” A sudden lump filled Brendon’s throat and he couldn’t finish the sentence.  It’s a mistake, a joke, some strange experiment that Ryan was conducting on his stupid, dumb friend. 

“I know what the note said Brendon.  I wrote it.  But what I asked was why did you come?”

“…”  Brendon picked at a loose thread in the fabric of the couch and squirmed a little in his seat, mumbling incoherently to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Answer the question, Brendon.”

“…because you told me to.”

“And you like being told what to do, don’t you?”

“…yes…”

“By anyone or by me in particular?”

“By you only.”

 “Do you find it hard to do what you’re told?”

“Sometimes.”

“But you like that.”

“Yes.”  It was starting to feel like an interrogation.  Brendon could feel Ryan’s steely gaze boring into him, ready to pounce on any untruth that might be uttered forth from his lips.

“Did you like having your wrists bound yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What?”  Brendon’s eyes snapped up to meet Ryan’s for a second.

“Why did you like it?”

“I don’t know…” He was becoming flustered. “It felt good I guess.”

“What felt good about it?  The feel of the leather?  The tightness of it?”

“Yes that…both of those.  But also…being helpless.”  Brendon blushed as he said the words

“You liked being helpless before me?”

“Yes.”

“Say ‘Yes Ryan’.” The look in his eyes had intensified now.

“Yes Ryan.”  That same feeling was coming over Brendon once again.  It was as though Ryan was hypnotising him, making his head swim with all these questions, causing him to become flushed and confused, while he, Ryan, remained as calm and unreadable as ever.

“And I called you names, didn’t I Brendon?”

“Yes Ryan.”

“And you liked that too didn’t you?”

“Yes Ryan.”  Brendon’s voice was small, almost a whisper.

“What names did I call you, Bren?”

“…”  He couldn’t say it.  “Dirty ones.”

“What were they?”

Oh God.  “…Whore…”

“What else?”

“You called me a slut.”

“You are a slut.”

Brendon let out a moan then and slumped forward so that his forehead pressed against the sole of Ryan’s boot, which lay stretched out in front of him on the couch, trying to ground himself.

“Fuck, Ryan.”  Brendon’s hands reached out and gripped on to Ryan’s ankle, desperately needing to feel contact, any contact, wanting to fling himself at the older boys feet and give himself over to it totally.  He was grateful to feel Ryan’s soft hand on the back on his neck, gently stroking the hair there for a moment, petting him like a well-loved puppy. 

“Shhh…”  Ryan soothed.  “Good boy.”

Brendon found himself nudging his head softly against Ryan’s hand, craving the comfort and attention it offered.

“Good boy.”  Ryan repeated.

Brendon’s body relaxed and he was able to acknowledge to himself how great this felt, bent forward at Ryan’s feet with the boy’s hand gently caressing him.  All responsibility, all control, all decisions had been taken away from him and he was able to just be.  He had not felt so relaxed since the start of the tour.  Since maybe way before that.  Since maybe forever.

Ryan’s fingers toyed with the buckle at the back of Brendon’s neck.

“How do you like your new collar?”

“It’s…I like it.”

“Good.  Why don’t you sit up and show me?”

Brendon reluctantly lifted his torso and shuffled his feet further under him so that he was kneeling on the couch in front of Ryan. 

“Lift your chin; let me get a good look.”

Brendon obediently raised his chin which caused the leather around his neck to tighten and restrict his breathing.  Ryan lifted his hand and his long index finger traced around the edge of the collar at Brendon’s throat, his eyes admiring the thick band of black that offset Brendon’s pale skin.  He toyed with the silver tag that hung from the D-ring and read the words he had ordered to be engraved, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Very nice.  I guess this means you belong to me now.”

Brendon forced a swallow uncomfortably passed the tight black band and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes Ryan.”  He whispered.

“I think I liked it when those lips were closer to my boot.  Did you like that Brendon.”

“Yes Ryan.”  Brendon wondered whether he would be able to say anything else, even if he wanted to.

“Would you like it if I let you kiss them?”

“Yes.” Brendon was already bowing his head, as if in prayer, and pushing his lips forward to meet the cold leather of Ryan’s left boot.  He kissed it tenderly, more tenderly than he had ever kissed a lover and hoped for reciprocation, yet he knew he would get none.  The smell of the leather filled his nostrils and the taste was a little acrid on his lips, but he immediately leant forward to kiss again, and again, leaving a little trail of moist mouth marks across the toe.  With the fifth or sixth kiss came a moan of pleasure and Brendon’s tongue began to lap hungrily at the leather, desiring more than the mere contact of his full lips.

Ryan let out a sigh of pleasure at the sight and began to tenderly stroke the back of Brendon’s neck once again, rewarding him for his obedience.

“Such a good boy.”  Cooed Ryan, encouraging Brendon to work harder.  He obliged making long deep strokes with his tongue across the foot of Ryan’s boot towards the ankle.  Once there he planted more kisses in a half circle before proceeding up the shin towards the knee, laying kiss after kiss like a pilgrim worshipping at the foot of a shrine, each kiss more delicate and filled with emotion than the last.  Ryan’s fingers pressed harder, grabbing slightly at the hair on the back on Brendon’s neck, suddenly carried away with the moment, his firm control of the situation forgotten as he indulged in the younger boy’s submission.  He felt sure he would have allowed that beautiful mouth to keep kissing, ever upwards and taken every bit of pleasure that those lips were willing to offer, had it not been for the loud banging on the door that immediately awoke both of them from their reverie.