Pretty Little Things
hector.*
Hector snickers, idly swatting the smoke from his eyes. He, on the other hand, savors this so-called power. It’s not often he gets to given his own, pressing need for subordination. Despite his antics, the disciple craves discipline. Men like Cohen or Sinclair are always so happy to oblige. But, Harry fulfills a different need entirely. Yes, the good doctor has a way of making Hector feel formidable.Â
“I knew you’d come around.”Â
The actor helps himself to a seat on the edge of the bed, his elbows to his knees, his fingers laced under his chin. Lidded eyes follow Harrison’s every move, while an easy smile settles softly over his features. The lace concealed beneath his own slacks begins to feel tight, perhaps even stifling as he awaits the other man’s cue, brow cocked in playful challenge.
“C’mon now. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
    It felt as though his eyes were permanently stuck at the back of his own damn head. Every word that seemed to leave the Disciple’s lips was coated in some sort of sleazy tone... And Harrison, though he would never admit it, loved it. The strange balance between having a relatively put-together lifestyle before his career meltdown, and now giving in to such absurd antics from this lunatic was always a pressing issue on the doctor’s mind. He hated how easy it was to just given in to the sheer stupidity of Hector’s ideas.Â
    The door to the washroom attached to his bedroom slammed shut, leaving the actor to his own devices. Try and try and he may, there was no getting out of this one, and LeCaine knew it. His clothes hit cold tile floor as layers began to be stripped from his body. Once he was entirely nude, hands clasped at the counter’s ledge, and he gave himself a good, long look in the mirror.Â
    “Why do I even put up with this shit from you?” his voice was nearly muffled from the closed door. Who knows if Hector could even hear him at this point.Â
