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I'm back in the club on Saturday, determined to have a good night tonight. Maybe even play, if I spot a sub who looks like he won't be too timid. What's with me? Don't want meek, but don't want bratty. I'm starting to annoy myself.

I look at my friends with pleasure that they seem to be finding their levels. I know Nikolai isn't submissive out of the club or play and wonder if that's what I want. I went to theirs for dinner last week, and it was really nice to have a normal conversation with him. He's a serious guy but talks intelligently on a range of subjects and he and the less-serious Landon bounce well off each other.

Xander has brought Tim again, for the first time since his meltdown. He's wearing fairly regular clothes, though they're skin-tight of course, and two slim leather cuffs in a shade of blue that perfectly matches his hair. He's looking a lot calmer tonight and I know his new routines and medication are doing him a lot of good.

I leave the VIP area, just to wander, feeling good. I grab a drink at the bar upstairs, scanning my eye over the dancefloor. It's fairly packed with subs and a surprising number of Doms. It makes me feel old. Even the Doms all look younger than me, well, the ones on the dancefloor trying to look good before they make a move on a sub do.

I don't care though. A lot of them are at the beginning of their journey. I know where I want to be. I've played enough...or not played, because I plan on doing that a lot more, but explored randomly enough, I suppose. They have good times and exploration ahead, and I'm pleased for them, but it feels vacuous to me now. I want something real.

I spot Ellis on the dancefloor, surrounded by many friends, including Gabriel, who is looking happy with his arms around River and Mateo. Chase and Frankie are standing to the side, watching, and I stroll over to them.

"Can't leave them alone for five minutes, can you boys?" I chuckle at their protectiveness.

Chase shrugs, "Would you?"

Frankie just nods his head toward Ellis, who has stopped dancing and is staring. I see a blond guy with a hard, lean, muscled back, clad in a handsome thick leather harness with heavy buckling and mid-thigh wet-look shorts that show off a gorgeous bubbled ass, stride confidently toward him.

It's only when he gets close and envelopes six-foot Ellis' torso in a hug, and I see how small he actually is, that I realize it's Owen. I can't help the fact that my jaw drops. He looks fucking stunning. Confident, with a straight back – and I realize that whenever I've seen him in the club before, except when he's looking directly at me, and then I'm distracted by his eyes, he's always subtly kept his head lowered, made himself look smaller, younger.

Ellis is whispering rapidly to him now, and he shakes his head hastily, but Ellis grabs at him and tries to pull him off the dance floor. They seem to be having a mini argument and Owen is pleading with Ellis, but Ellis grasps him by the shoulders and says something very seriously right into his face, and Owen nods reluctantly, before taking a deep breath and walking with Ellis to where we're standing.

"Hello Ellis, hello Owen," I say.

"Hello Master Gray," Ellis says with a cheeky and not particularly submissive wink, and I hear Frankie growl, though Ellis clasps his hand in a very 'bear with me' kind of way.

"Hello, Sir," Owen says quietly, and Ellis nudges him, hard enough to make him stumble.

I reach forward instinctively, catching his arm to steady him, and I feel him take a deep breath and raise his head, keeping his lashes lowered, but regaining that sensual confident stance he had when he walked in.

As I always do, I ask him to look at me, but this time, instead of letting myself get lost in his clear green eyes, I take in all of him, and I'm left wondering if he's always looked this good. I know his muscles are new, and very sexy, but it's the way he stands there, like a man rather than a kid...

That makes me realize he definitely hasn't always looked that way. This is new and I wonder what's changed in his attitude. I really want to find out. Do I take that risk?

"Owen," I say, before I can overthink where my mind is going, "are you in the mood to scene?"

"With the right Dom, Sir. Are you offering?"

"Yes, Owen."

"I'd love to, Sir."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and guide him to the playroom.

When we get inside I feel strange, almost hot and feverish, and I recognize it as nerves. For some reason I'm very eager to make sure this goes right.

"Owen, before we begin the scene do we need to get Patrice in? Have your limits changed since we last did a scene?"

"My hard limits have not altered, Sir, though some of my preferences have changed. But perhaps this time, we could work within the same boundaries as we did before."

"That is acceptable," I take a deep breath and walk around him, taking his shoulders in my hands and leaning into the back of his neck.

I'm lost for a moment in the scent of him, I hadn't realized just how much I'd missed it over these last months, when I've been restricted to look, don't touch. I'm brought back to myself when he lets out the smallest whimper, a plea.

"Turn around, Owen," I instruct, and he turns to face me, his eyes wide as they stare up.

I've always been aware of the honesty in Owen's gaze, but it comes to me that I've been ignoring what that honesty is saying, just basking in the feeling it creates. Well, maybe I haven't been ignoring it, but I haven't let myself think of what it means, either to him or me. Have I really been that dumb? That close-minded? That cowardly?

Because I'm looking at him now, a light shining in him, a glossy glow that is about more than just excitement for a scene. And I have to wonder if I can let that happen.

"Owen," my voice is soft; I don't want to make him feel like there's something wrong, although it's conceivable there is, if I've got this wrong, and I'm preparing myself for the possibility of disappointment, "is there anything we should be discussing before we scene?"

"Sir?" he sounds tremulous.

"Do we need to talk about...expectations?"

"I don't want to call you Daddy, Sir," his voice is a brief rush, nervous and nervy at once.

"I know, we said we'd work within the same boundaries- "

"No. I mean at all. I'm not looking for a Daddy. I don't want someone to look after me all the time. I definitely don't need to say the word. I don't need someone to choose what I wear, or where I go, or the language I can use..."

He pauses, out of breath and apparently out of ideas. His clear eyes look a little edgy now.

"What is it you're saying?" I need to simplify this.

"Oh, no, Sir. I think you should clarify. You're the Dom after all."

"Are you protecting your heart, Owen?" he blushes at my words.

"Are you, Sir?"

"Cheeky," I chuckle, but consider what he said anyway.

I am. Of course I am. I liked him too much that first time we worked together. Hell, I liked him too much the first time we spoke. I didn't think we were compatible then. We wanted different things. But I know Owen has used his words and his beautiful, sea-green eyes to tell me, to insist to me, that he doesn't want those same things anymore.

"Sir, I know you're worried about us working together because you think I'll become too attached. I promise you, Sir, my heart isn't as fragile as you think it is. I know I feel differently about you than you do about me, but it's okay- "

"'Differently', Owen?"

"Sir, I like you. I've liked you since...before. I know you don't want to be with me that way. You told me as much, and I understand. I was just hoping, maybe...would you work with me again? Have a contract for a while? While you're looking for what you want."

I don't know what to do about the fact that he's wrong – about him liking me in a way I don't like him, because I do like him; or possibly not 'like' as it's not a strong enough word for the feelings I have for him, those feelings of wonder that I had way back when we were supposedly playing, the emptiness I felt when he wasn't mine anymore, the sinking inside when Amir took him on and gave him, or I thought gave him, what I was unable to, the vague desperation when I thought he would be gone for good.

But something about his words strikes a chord.

"What do you mean, 'I told you as much'?"

"Our last scene, Sir, when you told me you wanted a boyfriend not a full time submissive...well, it obviously wasn't me you wanted, was it? But I'm okay with that, now. I won't embarrass you, I promise, if you'll agree to work with me. I won't get too attached. I'm a grown up, I promise I can deal with it..."

I remember my stupid brain back then. I don't remember saying that to him, but it fits with where my head was, the certainty I'd had that he needed someone who would take care of him all the time, who would make decisions for him, who would be a Daddy to him. Hmm maybe I'm not as good at reading subs as I pride myself on, as he's telling me loud and clear that he doesn't need that. And as that was the only thing stopping us...

I lift Owen's delicate jaw, covering his mouth with mine. He gasps in shock at the move and I take advantage, sliding my tongue inside, demonstrating some passion that isn't based on using and exploring his perfect body, which so much of our play has been.

I wonder if that's why he got upset, way back then, about me not kissing him. There's something so gloriously personal about a kiss, about tasting each other's mouths, about feeling that direct heat and moisture. I wonder if he felt used, regardless of any agreement, perhaps because he saw the comparison between how I treated him and how I treated Alex. Even though he clearly didn't recognize how much more he was, even then.

I break the kiss, still holding his jaw, not allowing him to look away. I don't think he will anyway, gazing up at me with...adoration, I think.

"I want you, Owen," I murmur, and the adoration fades for a moment, until I finish, "all of you. Your heart, your mind, not only your body, although I want that too. Say my name, Owen."

"Oh, Gray..."

I kiss him again, pulling him closer, drawing him to me, guiding us to the bed, where I lay him carefully, lying by his side, to continue my exploration of his mouth. I feel like a teenager. A horny teenager with rather a more filthy imagination than most, but still a teenager. Simplistic and driven.

"Sir, Gray," Owen gasps when we pause for breath, "you will still play with me, won't you?"

Fuck yes, it's all I can do to stop myself from turning him over right now and turning that beautiful ass rosy pink with my slaps.

"Do you still want to scene, Owen? Now?"

"Yes, please, Sir," and he's back; angelic, sexy boy, looking at me through long lashes.

"Oh? Does my sweet boy want to play?" I growl. "Are you going to be good, or do I need to tie you down?"

He shudders in pleasure, wriggling away from me to show me what he needs.

"Oh, no, sweetie, you don't get away that easily."

I leap to the armoire and am back before he's even shuffled to the far side of the bed, slapping the cuffs onto his wrists, binding them to the headboard and flipping him onto his stomach. The cuffs are positively toys, he could tear out of their Velcro fastening easily if he tries, because we're just playing now, getting used to each other again, not really scening.

I lean over him, breathing my words into his sensitive ear as he whimpers beneath me.

"You're a very naughty boy, Owen, trying to escape from me. I'm going to punish you, and then you're going to really get what's coming to you."

The 'Sir' he lets out is a drawn out moan. I'm pleased he seems to have missed this, missed me, I hope. I do know that Amir's role play tends to be more on the severe side; think disapproving Victorian Daddy rather than generalized kink.

I unzip and slide down his tight shorts, lifting his ass with an arm under his stomach, letting loose on the exposed pale bubbles with a barrage of forceful slaps, until it's deep-rose and he's whining and trying to fuck the bed in his arousal.

"Sir, please, Sir," I love hearing him beg, but I'm as desperate for this as he is, so I don't make him wait.

I lean over to grab the lube, dipping my fingers, but he stops me with a moan.

"No Sir, no prep. I've missed you, Sir, I want it to hurt, I want to feel all of it."

I slide the lube over my sheathed cock only and I cover his body with mine; my sordid boy is going to get exactly what he wants and as I push into him I spur him on with more filth, knowing how much he loves it.

"You missed this fat cock, Owen? You want to feel every inch stretching your tight little hole, forcing you open?"

His response in a groan, halfway between pain and ecstasy and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to calm the roiling inside me, the pressure and pleasure from his narrow passage just too much.

I don't go easy on him. It's been too long since I felt his delicious tightness and I'm claiming it now, marking it as mine, undoubtedly with a little bruising that he's going to feel in the morning, but I want him to, I want him to have that pleasant ache that reminds him of me when he sits, when he walks.

"Sir, harder, Sir," he demands now, not willing to go easy on me, either. "Hurts so damn good, Sir."

I grasp his hips harshly, sending sparks through him with pressure in just the right place, making him respond with a buck of the hips and a beautiful whimper. I've always loved the noises he makes, and the words he lets slip, but now that those noises and words belong to me I love them even more.

We finish in unison, no need for either of us to hold until the right time, fate making this one more proof of our connection.

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