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“I intend to show the world that you belong to me.”

A shiver went through John at the sound of Harold’s voice, low and dangerous. “I think everybody already knows,” John whispered.

Harold shook his head. “I’m not talking about Miss Morgan or the detective. I’m talking about everyone who sees you and me. I want them to look at you and know that you are mine and mine alone.” Harold reached up and grabbed John by the collar. “Bedroom. Now.”

Feeling his cock hardening, John obeyed. Harold was close behind, closing and locking the bedroom door. He gave John a quick once over. “We'll have to replace your tuxedo,” he lamented. “I provide for you, you know,” he added softly, reaching up to cradle John’s cheek. “I clothe you, I house you, and when you bleed, I heal you.” Harold’s hands wandered down to John’s ruined shirt. “After tonight, the world will know. You’re mine.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he ripped John’s shirt open, exposing John’s chest. Buttons went flying and clattered to the floor.

Harold pushed John back onto the bed, and John fell with a slight huff as the impact pushed the air out of his lungs. He was given no time to replace it as Harold’s lips were instantly on his, kissing him passionately. Harold’s teeth grazed John’s lower lip, and John moaned.

Harold pulled away briefly, clawing at the back of John’s neck. “If everyone could hear you,” he breathed, “they would know. You make all those pretty noises for me. But those noises are just for me. I want them to see that you’re mine.” Harold worked his way down, kissing and sucking at John’s jaw, neck, and the top of his chest, whispering "Mine" from time to time. John couldn’t hold back a gasp every time Harold brushed John’s skin with his teeth. Harold nipped here and there, and John’s back arched under the pain and pleasure. The bites came as a surprise, but the sting was pleasant, and left his body aching for more.

Between kisses, Harold stripped himself of his own top. When he came back down for more, he grasped John’s shoulders with the tips of his fingers, his nails digging into John’s back. He dragged his nails down as he trailed kisses over John’s throat and clavicle. John knew that there would be claw marks down his back the following day.

“Marking your territory?” John managed between pants, the thought exciting his senses and driving up his heart rate.

Harold hummed, his throat vibrating against John’s chest. “I don’t want anyone to be confused about who your master is,” he whispered into John’s shoulder, where he nipped again, gently. Sliding his hand up to cradle John’s head, Harold shifted so his mouth was pressed firmly against John’s carotid artery, and began to suck. John moaned again, a sinful sound that urged Harold to suck harder. John clutched the sheets in his fists as Harold left his mark. He built up a rhythm, rocking against John, and it seemed to echo in John's mind what Harold had called him. Mine, mine, mine.

When Harold was satisfied with the size of the bruise, he pulled himself back up to kiss John on the lips. John knew that the hickey would be clearly visible above the collar of his suit, and he tingled at the thought of it. It was immature, sporting a hickey like a badge of honor like some high school sweetheart, but John didn’t care. He wanted everyone to know that he belonged to Harold, even if nobody knew who Harold was.

Sighing, Harold curled up with his head on John’s chest, setting his glasses aside. Mindlessly, Harold traced his fingers over John’s chest and John wrapped his arm around Harold’s shoulders to hold him close, breathing in the scent of his aftershave.

A few moments passed in silence before John spoke, “So… did you mean what you said? That I belong to you?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re my master in the bedroom, and we live together now, but… you mean it?”

Harold nuzzled closer, acting sheepish. “I didn’t mean to get so… aggressive, about your pretense with Miss Morgan,” he admitted, “but I’d like to think that you- your body and your love- belong to me since your… sexual escapades have ceased.” Harold looked up at the shape of John’s face. “They have ceased, haven’t they?”

John smiled down at his partner. “Of course, Harold. I’m yours. All yours.” John nestled his chin in Harold’s hair. “And you’re mine too.” He chuckled. “Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Harold chuckled, too. “I think it is you who is stuck with me, John.”

Releasing a sigh, John replied, “And I’m proud to let the word know that I’m yours, and yours alone.”