He was undoing Tobias’s collar. It never came off when he was at home, never, not even in the shower—they had a special oil they put on it to keep the leather supple for that very reason, so it would never come off and now Sullivan was removing it, and Tobias clamped his hands down on the buckle, probably crushing Sullivan’s fingers, and blurted, “Red.”
Sullivan instantly stepped back, his hands pulling loose and falling away, eyes closing for a second in sudden understanding. “Shit, sorry, that’s—this one’s on me. Oh, fuck, I did this all wrong.” Sullivan winced. “Can I touch you?”
Tobias nodded and Sullivan tugged him close. “I’m sorry,” Sullivan murmured. “I’m not leaving, you’re not leaving, we’re good.”
Tobias began to feel downright stupid around that point, because he knew that Sullivan wasn’t leaving, he knew it in his bones, but his collar was just, it was sacred, okay—Sullivan said, “Let me show you what I got for you. Then you can tell me I’m an idiot and we can forget this happened and have pizza and guardians of the tree-things.”
Sullivan held the box out to him, his eyes were questioning and hopeful, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
“Open it.”
Tobias took a breath and did, not sure what to expect. The box was too big for a ring, and Sullivan wasn’t a ring person anyway, and while it might be the size of a man’s watch, Tobias couldn’t understand why a watch would mean he would need to take off his collar, so—
It was neither a ring nor a watch.
It was a wrist cuff.
The same expensive, plain black leather that his collar was made of, roughly three inches wide, with two small silver buckles that would hold it closed. There was nothing else to it—no skulls or rivets or elaborate engravings. It wasn’t jewelry or decoration. It was a symbol of ownership. He couldn’t breathe. It was perfect.
“This way you can take us with you wherever you go.” Sullivan shifted his weight, his gaze flying back and forth between the cuff and Tobias’s face, gauging his reaction. “Lots of guys wear these, so no one will think anything of it. You can wear it to school and work and you won’t have to take it off when you leave the house. So I thought, instead of your collar—”
Tobias threw himself into Sullivan’s arms, and Sullivan laughed against his cheek. Sullivan buckled it on, and they both studied it for a second, dark against the pale skin of Tobias’s wrist. The constriction felt strange, bulky and obvious, but his collar had been like that at first too, and now it was as natural to him as a limb. This would be too, eventually, and in the meantime, the strange, palpable weight was glorious.
Sullivan bent his head and kissed the meaty pad of muscle at the base of his thumb. “It looks gorgeous on you.”
“Thank you,” Tobias said. “I love it.”
“That’s the idea.” Sullivan lifted his eyebrows. “Is that...are we green?”
“Can I still wear my collar when we play?”
“You can wear it whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be one or the other, I guess. I just wanted you to have something you could take with you.”
“Then we’re green,” Tobias agreed, and pressed up on both toes to kiss him.
A second later, the doorbell rang.
“Shit, hold that thought,” Sullivan said. “Gotta get that before the pizza boy thinks he’s being Punk’d.”
Tobias looked down at the cuff, so innocuous in design. His family wouldn’t second-guess it; neither would Sullivan’s. Church and Ghost would suspect what it meant, but Tobias didn’t mind that. Church didn’t care about whatever Tobias got up to as long as he was happy, and these days Ghost was more likely to raise his eyebrow judgmentally than stab Sullivan. While Tobias couldn’t guess whether that aversion to violence was the result of everything Ghost had been through in the past year or a slow-growing tolerance of Sullivan, either way, he wouldn’t complain.
When Sullivan came back, it was with a large pie and a 2-liter of soda, and they settled on the couch to eat and watch the movie. Twenty minutes later, with the pizza cold and the movie completely forgotten, they’d moved to the bedroom, Sullivan was slicking his cock with lube, and Tobias was half-wrecked beneath him from trying not to come.
“You’re in rough shape,” Sullivan noted, amused, and Tobias didn’t have the wherewithal to argue. Some days it was harder to hold on than others.
“Still better not come,” Sullivan warned him, sliding between his thighs.
“Not gonna.”
“You sure?”
Tobias shook his head, swallowing hard, his stomach clenching pleasantly at the low chuckle Sullivan gave.
“Better figure it out. If you come before I give you permission, I’ll take a belt to your ass until you can’t think.”
For a split second Tobias craved the sharp, impossible fire of the belt, lusted for the crack of it against his skin. There were days when the idea of pain was unattractive to the point of being a turnoff, but there were other days, days like today when he wanted the pain more than he wanted the pleasure. He wanted it badly enough that he debated coming early just so Sullivan would do it.
He felt an instant flush of shame and guilt that he’d considered it, that he’d almost subverted the trust between them with manipulation to get what he wanted, and he glanced up, mouth opening to beg forgiveness and do as he should’ve done in the first place—explained what he felt.
But Sullivan’s eyes were narrowed and keen, and Tobias didn’t have to say anything after all.
“Later, if you want me to, I’ll cane you until you beg me to stop,” Sullivan said quietly. “You don’t have to disobey to get what you need, sweetheart.”
Tobias exhaled, both relieved and terrified, because the cane was so much better and worse than the belt, and he closed his eyes, nodding
