He turns his head and John sees them: little plum-colored bruises dotting Rodney’s neck. “God,” he says, shuddering. “Did I do that?”

“Yes,” says Rodney, happily. He kneels, laying his head on John’s thigh. John wants to jerk back, but there isn’t enough room in here. Not enough.

Twelve hours, John thinks, not knowing whether he wants time to move faster or slower. Twelve hours until the switch, until Rodney remembers who he is again: so much more than anybody’s slave. Until John forgets he’s anything other than Rodney’s master.

Maybe this time, Rodney too can leave a mark.