I write about men having sex with other men. You must be eighteen or older to read my fiction. This site is for consenting, responsible adults only.
L.Joe was shopping with Niel and Kai when he saw a rack of collars. Riveted, he moved closer, licking his lips. His gaze ran over each one, but he didn’t touch. Some of them had pendants or heart-shaped tags; some of them were plain. One was studded. Some of them had necklace clasps, and two of them actually buckled.
He wondered which kinds of people bought them.
He’d seen girls wear chokers. And idols wore all kinds of crap. But guys around town? People would make assumptions.
He wished that he could buy one. It would be nice to wear it. The collar that Sehun had given him was only for Sehun, and he’d never wear it in front of anyone else, but if he bought one himself, that would be different. If he had the nerve, he could wear it in public.
That kind of thing would have been unthinkable, before. But now, well, it was still impossible, but the fantasy was appealing. Almost losing Sehun had shaken him hard enough to uncover a few truths. One was that he was never going to let Sehun go. Another was that this was an important part of who he was. He was a sub. He was a pet. He kept it hidden even better than his real hair color, but it was as much a part of him. It was as much an unchanging fact as his height; it was as much a part of his identity as being an idol.
“Ah, not those hyung,” Niel said, taking his elbow and tugging him away. “You don’t want those.”
But he did.
L.Joe couldn’t get the collars out of his head. He got out of bed and took Sehun’s collar into the bathroom and put it on, three times in one night. He wished that he had other ones. He wished that he could wear them all of the time. Sehun’s collar felt so right around his neck, he missed it when it wasn’t there.
In the dressing room one day, while he was choosing accessories, C.A.P. was beside him asking the stylist about hats. When C.A.P. walked away, she called, “Let me know if you want anything else.”
“Collars,” L.Joe said. He felt too shy to make eye contact, so he looked at the table some more. “What about, um, collars?”
“Hmm? Collars?” she asked, rearranging bracelets.
“Like, uh, black collars. Black leather.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She was scrutinizing him; he pretended to be interested in trying on rings. “You have a long neck, it’s pretty, I think that it would work. I’ll see.”
Sehun thought that it was pretty, too. He smiled at her. “Thanks, noona.”
Three days later, the collars showed up. They were right between the bracelets and the sunglasses. There were two of them, a thin one with a clasp and a wider one with a buckle. He stared down at them, taking them in.
What would his members think?
What would his fans think?
What would the staff and the public and the netizens and his family think?
What would Sehun think?
He nibbled on his lower lip, wanting to touch them. He thought that they were pretty. He thought that they’d look great and feel even better.
His hand hovered over them, and then he touched them, running his fingers over them. They were deceptively ordinary; no one would think anything of them, really. It would seem like idol gear, like the rest of the sometimes stylish, sometimes embarrassing stuff they wore onstage.
He liked the idea of wearing it onstage. He liked the idea of sharing a little bit of that side of himself with Angel. The stage was somewhere he could let go, somewhere he could be free and enjoy himself. The music, the energy of the crowd, he loved performing. There was nothing else like getting out there and bopping around and singing and dancing and rapping and soaking up Angel’s love. If he could be himself onstage, then he wanted to be all of himself.
Seizing the wider collar, he put it on. Turning, the stylist asked, “Oh, do you need help with - - no, you’ve got it.”
He smiled at her. “I’ve got it,” he agreed. When he looked at the mirror, his smile brightened. He’d been right: it looked great, and it felt even better.
Caressing it with one hand, he went over to the couch. Sitting beside Ricky, he took Ricky’s phone. “Ah, hyung,” Ricky said, reaching for it. Slapping Ricky’s hand away, he flipped to the camera. “Smile,” he said. Putting his arm around Ricky, he held the phone up. Immediately, Ricky leaned in, and he took a photo. Mmm, he looked hot. He went into Ricky’s texts and sent the photo to Sehun. Then he played games on Ricky’s phone and waited.
His own phone buzzed.
“Mmm.” He handed Ricky’s phone back and pulled out his own.
Sehun had texted him. Sunbae. Isn’t it time for your stylist to get a raise? She does such good work. I like it, sunbae, I like it a lot.
L.Joe liked it, too. He liked it a lot.
Oh, yes, damn. Biting his lip to hold back a moan, his cock in one hand, Sehun backed the video up. This was the best fancam he could find: nice and steady, high-quality, and it tracked L.Joe’s every movement. He could see the collar from every angle as L.Joe danced across the stage. Snug, it hugged L.Joe’s neck perfectly, jet black against L.Joe’s taut skin. He wanted to hold onto it and drag L.Joe closer. He wanted to lick it and listen to L.Joe pant ecstatically. He wanted to grab it and throw L.Joe down. Yes, yes, oh, damn.
“Are you jacking off to a fancam?” Baekhyun asked from behind him.
“Yes, go away.” He backed the video up again. He loved the part where L.Joe held the mike out to the crowd. L.Joe’s smile was great; his pet looked so happy.
“Want me to blow you or something?”
“No, go away.”
“You’d rather jack off than get head?”
Why had he agreed to be in a group where he was the youngest? He really needed to be able to throw his members out of his room at times like this. “Yes, okay?” He refocused his attention on L.Joe, and his cock responded eagerly. His cock knew that nothing was better than L.Joe. Baekhyun was great and everything, but he didn’t want interference.
“The maknae’s being really weird,” Baekhyun said, leaving the room. “Come in here, you have to see this, he’s jacking off to a fancam.”
“Of himself?” Chen asked.
Sehun turned the volume up.
September 13, 2015
by Matthew Haldeman-Time