[Dc]don't You Belong to Me Now?

He kept thinking. Leather, metal, fabric. He pressed his fingers to his neck, holding it in his palms and frowning at the slightest feeling of restraint. Then he thought of the ink, and then he thought of the scars. He thought about the last time he saw the scarred neck skin of the other person, when Red Robin took off his upper body uniform to sew up the wound. The sweat shone in the light, and the healed silver scar clung to his skin like a mist floating on his body. It was as if Jason had put the collar around his neck at some point, claimed him as his own, asked to protect him, to possess him. He didn't. Idea: "What material do you like?"