Shawn wearing his collar is nothing like Carlton's fantasies. Shawn's not kneeling, eyes lowered, waiting for a command. He's not touching it reverently, his cock hard, begging with every ounce of eloquence he possesses to be touched, owned, fucked.
Instead, Shawn's sprawled across the couch, shamelessly stealing popcorn whenever Carlton looks away. His collar's all but hidden under his shirt and he's insulted Carlton's choice of movie, tie, and beer at length.
Carlton doesn't care. When he fastened his collar, Shawn came, shuddering, gasping, smiling, then refused to take it off.
He'll take that over a 'Yes, Master' every time.
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