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He lies completely nude, all of that unmarked golden skin on show; the faintest dusting of peachy hair catching in the last remnants of sun that stream in through the window, blinds neglected. His cock, hard and heavy and leaking where it stands to attention between wiry thighs; the tip of it knocking against his abdomen with every movement, smearing evidence of his arousal across the hard ridges of muscle — tensed with the effort of his self-restraint.

“Such a good boy,” Oscar tells him, voice pitched low and soft.

A shudder runs through Lando’s body at the praise, lips mashed together tightly to prevent the moan that wants to escape into the world.

“Tell me,” Oscar demands. “Tell me how good you are.”

Lando takes a ragged, heaving breath, the sound of it cracking through the air like a whip.

“So good,” he gasps. “I’m so good for you.”

Something flashes in Oscar’s eyes, a dangerous glint of possessiveness. “Only for me.”

It’s gratifying, how quickly Lando responds. How he doesn’t dare hesitate; how the thought of doing so doesn’t even seem to cross his mind. He nods his head vigorously, metal clinking against metal.

“Yes, only for you.”

“Good boy,” Oscar murmurs again. He tugs gently at the chain in his hand, specially crafted by a discrete jewellers in Milan. The chains are dainty but strong, interlocking the entirety of the way up to where the matching collar stands bright and gorgeous around Lando’s neck.

The contract with his bronzed skin is particularly eye catching.

Wrapping the length of chain around his hand until his fist is at Lando’s throat, Lando moves willingly and easily with the pressure of it; never pushing where Oscar pulls, forces that work rhythmically with one another and never against.