Once Brendon’s breathing had slowed and his whimpers had ceased, Ryan had simply taken the boy’s hands, now untied, and led him out of the room to a back door and into the moonlit street.  Ryan had hailed a cab and opened the door to let Brendon inside.  Ryan had only spoken to direct the driver to a hotel a few blocks away and Brendon had shuffled uncomfortably from cheek to cheek on the hard leather of the rear passenger seat.  They had sat side by side, their thighs touching, Brendon still wearing his collar around his throat, almost proudly now.

They entered the hotel lobby and Ryan instructed Brendon to wait on a soft white sofa while he went and checked them in.  There was a glimpse of recognition in the eyes of the hotel clerk when Ryan said his name but this was an expensive hotel and confidentiality was included in the price tag.  Ryan took the key card and indicated to Brendon that he should follow, then headed towards the elevators and pressed to call the lift.

Brendon felt a little awkward as they waited for the elevator to take them to the eighth floor.  Neither of them spoke but Ryan slipped his hand gently into Brendon’s and held on to his fingers lightly.  When the doors opened they got out and moved down the corridor to Suite 801, still holding hands.  Ryan swiped the card and pushed the door open to reveal a plush living area decorated in modern, natural tones, an enormous flat screen television affixed to one wall in front of a giant leather couch, strewn with obscenely fluffy cushions.  A door to the left led through the ensuite bathroom and into the bedroom where a King-size bed waited, made up with crisp white sheets that smelt of lavender.  They both grinned.  After the cramped living quarters of the bus this was privacy and luxury and comfort and they both felt that they had earned it.

“You tired?”  Ryan asked in the warmest, sweetest voice Brendon had ever heard.

“Not really…a little…are you?”

“A little.  But since we have this suite we might as well make the most of it!”  Ryan sprang over the back of the couch in a most un-Ryan-ish manoeuvre and lay sprawled out across the length of it, a mass of long limbs, one of the ridiculously hairy cushions falling across his eyes.  Brendon laughed and smiled adoringly at his friend.

“You’re so cute.”

“I bet you didn’t think that a half hour ago.”

“Actually I did.  Actually I always think that.”

“So I’m thinking matching bathrobes, room service and a cheesy movie…you in?”  Ryan had never seemed so relaxed.

* * * *

Brendon was lying across the sofa, his head in Ryan’s lap, inclined towards the TV where Kirsten Dunst was partying hard 18^th century style as Marie Antoinette.  Ryan’s movie choice.  He liked the clothes.  Both of them wore plush white dressing gowns with the hotel logo embroidered over their hearts.

Ryan was absentmindedly running his fingers through Brendon’s hair, oblivious to the shivers that he was causing to run down his bandmate’s spine.  It was late, maybe 1am, but the sleep in the afternoon and massive sugary purchase from Room Service had eased their exhaustion. 

Ryan looked down at Brendon, who had closed his eyes for just a moment.  Ryan pondered how lucky he was to get so close to Brendon he could see the myriad of delicate freckles that covered the boy’s face right across the bridge of his nose, barely noticeable most of the time.  Lying still with his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted to reveal a sliver of wet white teeth, his dark eyebrows pushed forward in an earnest expression, Ryan suddenly realised how young Brendon was.  Most of the time he oozed sex.  He pulled faces and jumped about so that it was hard to get a really good look at his features.  Being able to make those features still and relaxed only increased Ryan’s feelings of ownership.  He’s mine whispered the voice inside Ryan’s head.

One of Brendon’s hands, the one nearest the back of the couch, was already raised above his head and rested softly against Ryan’s stomach.  Ryan stroked his gentle fingers along the palm of Brendon’s hand making it curl up involuntarily and then spread out again, asking for more.  He stroked again, grazing his nails and the fingers tensed, the palm flexed wide, eager to turn the ticklish sensation into erotic pleasure. 

Ryan reached down and found the other hand nestled warmly between Brendon’s legs.  He took hold of the wrist and lifted upwards.  Brendon shifted on the couch so that he was lying more squarely on his back and Ryan pulled harder at his arms so that Brendon stretched out, arching slightly.  Ryan leant down and planted soft kisses on Brendon’s face; his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose.  He let his hands wander, easing open Brendon’s dressing gown to reveal the smooth boyish torso, the small pink nipples.  Brendon moaned softly and opened his eyes to look up at Ryan.  He liked watching the look of intense concentration on the older boy’s face as Ryan’s cool hands explored his body.  Ryan took hold of a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently, causing Brendon to arch further and flex his toes.  Ryan pinched again, harder this time and pulled the delicate flesh outwards away from the body.  Brendon arched again and whimpered slightly, a mixture of confusion and desire filling his eyes. 

“Shh…”  Instructed Ryan. 

Brendon wanted to do what he was told.  All the touching, the pain, the kisses, they were all hot, but it was the feeling of being Ryan’s own, Ryan’s toy, Ryan’s plaything, that made Brendon feel things he had never imagined it was possible to feel.  His back arched still more  and he locked his eyes on to Ryan’s, trying to communicate his want, trying to telepathically tell him that he would be good, he would do as he was told, he would keep still and quiet and give himself entirely over to him.

“Pete was right,” smiled Ryan, “I have got you well trained.”  As if to prove his point Ryan pulled at the tender nipple again and bore a challenge into Brendon’s eyes, which narrowed slightly at the pain but did not look away. 

“Mmm,” Brendon’s submission aroused Ryan beyond words.  Instead he leant down again and kissed his pet.

The tormenting fingers moved down from the nipples, grazing their long nails across Brendon’s taut stomach to the waistband of his blue underwear.  Ryan nudged the last of the soft white cotton dressing gown aside and revealed Brendon’s straining cock, clearly visible through his tight pants as though wrapped in cellophane…That’s an idea… mused Ryan …maybe another time.

“Do you want to show me exactly how well trained I’ve got you?”

“Yes Ryan.”  Brendon smiled at how hard it had seemed to say those words a week ago.

Ryan’s hands moved down further and he started to press the hardest part of his flexed palm along Brendon’s shaft, enjoying the way that the cock stirred beneath the fabric of the pants.  Ryan rubbed back and forth in a rhythmic motion, never too quickly, and Brendon’s breathing went with him, softly at first then becoming more like a pant.  His body started to tense and shudder and he mumbled incoherently to Ryan that he was close.  Ryan looked steadily into his eyes and said “No.”  He did not stop moving his hand up and down in a fluid motion and Brendon understood all too clearly what was expected of him.  He let out a strangled whimper and grasped fistfuls of Ryan’s dressing gown in his hands, clenching his teeth and pointing his toes.  He wanted so desperately to prove himself to Ryan.  To prove Pete’s words right.  To prove to himself that this was what he was. 

Ryan was impressed.  Brendon was showing an inordinate amount of self control for someone who was usually so spontaneous and impulsive.  He decided to step it up a notch.  He tugged at Brendon’s pants and pulled them down so that they bound his knees together.  Now he could wrap his hand fully around Brendon’s shaft and really milk the squirming boy. 

Brendon held out for as long as he could, which really wasn’t too long at all, before his body convulsed and his face contorted into an ecstatic grimace, eyes rolling back.  Ryan collected the lion’s share of Brendon’s load in his hand.  There was lots of it, which only added to Ryan’s admiration.  He had held out pretty well.  Really well.  But Ryan had ultimately got what he wanted, and for Ryan, the fun could now really start.

Brendon was a metaphorical mess.  He still shook and squirmed and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Not a bad effort.”  Ryan was deliberately understating.  Brendon had not yet regained the power of speech.  “But ultimately…” Ryan chose his words carefully, “…ultimately you did not do what I told you.  Did you?”  Brendon managed a mumble.  “And now my hand is all dirty.”  Ryan pouted.

“Sorry.”  Brendon managed, not sure where this was going. 

Ryan ruffled his hair with his clean hand.  “Messy puppy.”

“Sorry.”  Brendon said again, surprised to find something still stirring in his tummy.  Arousal?  Or something else?

“When a new puppy makes a mess do you know what some people do?”

“…no.”

“They rub the puppy’s nose in the mess.  To teach the puppy a lesson.”

Brendon checked that Ryan was serious. He was.

“But I’m not sure that your little nose deserves to get all messy.  It’s such a cute little nose.”  Ryan touched it with his clean hand in a way that was both patronising and endearing.  Brendon smiled gratefully and nuzzled close.  He had never been a fan of his nose.

“That doesn’t solve the problem of my dirty hand though, does it Brendon?”

Silence.

“Does it?”

Brendon hadn’t thought that an answer was required but for once the polar opposite of the normal was needed.

“No Ryan.”

“Get down on the floor.”  That beautiful, commanding hardness had crept into Ryan’s voice once more.  Brendon slid from the couch to his knees and righted himself in front of his owner.  Ryan straightened up and held out his dirty hand in front of Brendon’s face.

“See what a mess you’ve made?” 

“Yes.”  Brendon did not look ashamed.  In fact, being forced to acknowledge his own desire, to look it in the eye and not feel pangs of self loathing, was beautiful.

“I want you to clean it up.”  Ryan’s words were clearly spoken. 

Brendon raised his eyes and looked up at his friend, feeling slightly rebellious as he poked out his tongue without a hint of the humiliation that Ryan wanted.  He tasted himself, both sour and salty at once, but mostly he tasted Ryan’s skin beneath his mess, and that is what he concentrated on.

Brendon was still licking hungrily at Ryan’s hand, even after it was clean, and Ryan couldn’t help but force his fingers into the eager mouth, rolling his knuckles around the lips, pushing the head back so the neck strained, before sliding off the couch to his knees and grabbing at Brendon’s naked body, replacing his own hand with his own lips, kissing and biting and licking urgently, wanting to swallow that sweet, sexy tongue whole.

They kissed passionately, hands grabbing at flesh, Ryan’s gown slipping from his shoulders to his waist so that they could press skin onto skin and feel the life that resided there.  Both boys were moaning into each other’s mouths, the balance equal, both lost in each other’s bodies, the totality of Brendon’s submission confirming what they knew already.

“I love you.” 

Ryan said it first, his lips pressed against Brendon’s ear as Brendon sucked on his collar bone.

“You too…I mean, I love you too…Ryan I fucking love you…I love you…I love you.”  Once the words had left his mouth Brendon kept repeating them again and again, each time more confident, more sure that he meant it.  “I love you, Ryan.”  This last time was like a full stop, a summary of everything that they both felt, and they clung to each other, body’s hot, taut torsos pressed together, a mess of limbs on the shag pile carpet.

“I love you.”  The last time Ryan spoke the words it was softly, tenderly, with love rather than passion.  Not that it wasn’t love before but he wanted to make sure.  He wanted Brendon to know for sure.

“I love you.”