[Theo lets out a soft little breath, groaning as they shift in the tub and his head tilts to one side to lean into the pull of Oliver's hand in the strands of his hair. He keeps his hand moving around his cock even as he closes his eyes, lashes fluttering, a soft smile on his lips. Anyone else and he'd laugh and indulge the idea with them - shallowly, with no real devotion to it for obvious reasons, but Oliver's a special case. He of all people knows what it's like to bear a mark without consenting to it, and he might also understand the tug Theo feels now toward the idea of experimenting again with it... this time of his own intent.]
You come for me, saying my name, and I'll let you pick a spot on me to call your own.
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You come for me, saying my name, and I'll let you pick a spot on me to call your own.