The only light in the room came from the warm glow of the jack-o-lantern as the lithe figure backed himself against the varnished headboard of his bed. His ankles were already chained, heavy manacles like cold brands on his skin as he fastened his left wrist as well, letting his head tip back against the smooth wood, eyes closing as he breathed in the scents of the empty room: cool, autumn night, warm pumpkin, fire, sex.

His eyes blinked back open, vision hazy as metal closed on his right wrist as well. 

“You’re early.”

“You’re mine.”