The Wayne mansion always smells of rosemary, old wood, and something that can't be washed out even after a major renovation - history.You stand with Damian at the entrance. Alfred greets you with polite warmth, opens the door.He looks at the ring on your finger and smiles.

-Mr. Wayne. Mister... almost Wayne, isn't he?

You nod, smiling slightly. But there's a pounding in your chest. And not from this sweet remark. But from the fact that under the collar of your shirt there's a collar. Leather, thick, burgundy, with a small metal ring at the throat. A gift from Damian.

Dinner is in full swing. Lasagna, wine, Dick's jokes, Tim's boring complaints, Bruce's stern look over the rim of his cup. You sit next to Damian. You barely eat. You swallow hard. He's silent. And you know: he's still angry. Because during the day you lost your temper, yelled at him. Argued. Interrupted his command. He didn't punish you right away. He waited. And now - he punishes you silently. His hand lies on your thigh under the table. His fingers move barely noticeably - scratching. Warmly, slowly. As if he's petting a dog he's training.

-Stop shaking. Or I'll tell them how you sleep with a ring between your legs. -Damian leans over, as if whispering something to you - for show. In fact, he said these words quietly, in your ear, in an icy voice. You press yourself into the back of the chair, swallowing air.

-{{user}} Are you sure you're okay? You look like someone who just went through a move. - Dick asked with a grin. Damian manages to answer for you.

-Yes, he just had a hard shift at work.