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Buck is in trouble; he can tell by the way Tommy walks towards him into the loft, his face a somber expression edging on disapproval. This is the side of their relationship he avoids as much as possible, just because the rewards he gets are so much more fun than any punishments, but clearly, he’s done something wrong. Tommy stops in front of him, and he’s so tall like this, with Buck sitting on the couch with a book abandoned in his lap, all his attention pointed up to Tommy, and the way he looms over Buck.
“Can you tell me what you did wrong today?” Tommy asks, setting a hand on the back of the couch and the other below Buck’s chin to tip his gaze up. They lock eyes, and Buck is already to give in and roll over, show his belly.
“Uhm,” Buck says, because he isn’t sure, and he figures it’s best not to lie in this kind of situation where he’s already in trouble. “No?”
“Really?”
Tommy leans down and then moves his hand from Buck’s chin to the hoodie he’s still wearing. He grabbed it from the locker room in a hurry, because he was running late already. He still wanted to get home and shower, which – hasn't happened either, because as soon as he’d gotten in, he had a call from Maddie about babysitting Jee-Yun this weekend.
“I didn’t shower,” Buck replies.
“Close, baby,” Tommy says. “You’re so close. Can you think of anything else that’s wrong here?”
He still has his hand on the sweatshirt, and it makes Buck pause to look down at it. It’s a little too small, now that he notices, and the neck isn’t stretched out enough. Buck leans back to pull the sweatshirt up off his body, and there, on the back, is the name DIAZ. He grabbed Eddie’s sweatshirt on the way out of the station earlier, and he sighs now.
“Fuck.”
“Mm,” Tommy hums and leans in close, nipping at Buck’s earlobe with a soft breath against it. “Maybe I should get you a collar so you don’t forget who you belong to.”
“One condition,” Buck says, and Tommy’s eyebrow raises as if he weren’t expecting Buck to be so agreeable, as if Buck wasn’t always raring to be marked.
“What’s that, then, kid?”
He loves the way Tommy’s always called him that, kid , in a way that no one else ever has, an affectionate term, one that he uses to pull Buck closer to him.
“It has to have your name on it,” Buck says boldly, before adding softer, “please.”
“And you’ll wear it?”
“I’ll wear it here at home,” he agrees. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear it out at work or anything, but here, with you, I’ll wear whatever you ask me to.”
Tommy sinks down onto his knees in front of Buck, and looks at him seriously, those stormy grey eyes catching the lighting streaming in front the balcony doors and seeming translucent.
“I’m going to cancel our reservation,” Tommy says, and Buck frowns. He’s been looking forward to these plans, mostly because it meant he gets to be seen outside with his extremely hot boyfriend, and partially because the food at the restaurant afterward sounds absolutely divine. “This isn’t a punishment, Evan.”
“It’s not?”
“No, not at all. This is a reward, because I can’t possibly behave for the next six hours until I get you back. Instead, we’re going to pick out a collar for you, and then I’m going to fuck you in Diaz’s sweatshirt so when you return it to him, he knows that you are mine, and no one else gets to claim you.”
Buck’s breath catches in his chest and he mutters out a stuttering, “ye-yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” Tommy says, and he tips Buck’s chin up to kiss him. “Such a good, good boy for me. It’ll be easier to remember when my name is wrapped around your throat, won’t it?”
“Fuck,” Buck breathes out, and then says, “yes, Daddy.”
“Let me grab your laptop. Strip down for me and put the sweatshirt back on.”
Buck feels the shudder pass through him as Tommy moves away, the heat of his body gone, but he really, really wants to behave, so he does as he’s told, stripping off all his clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the armchair, and then pulling Eddie’s sweatshirt back on. He sits, and he waits, and when Tommy returns, he gets to tuck himself back into the warmth of his boyfriend’s side. Tommy strokes him with a barely closed fist while they browse for collars, until he’s squirming from how much it feels like he’s being teased.
“That one,” he says, and Tommy tilts his head as he selects the design. It’s a thick leather band that dips down like a V in the front, made of dark burgundy leather, the clasp at the back something Tommy himself would have to put on him and take off. There’s a golden ring at the front that would lie against his collarbone, where a leash could be hooked, and that in and of itself is enough to make him want it. The thing that catches his eye the most, though, is the customizable embossing on the inside, which would sit right against his skin, and press the letters into his neck until they were nearly branded there. He can imagine Tommy tugging it tight so the letters become a part of him, and he shifts into Tommy’s side tighter. “Yeah. That one. Definitely.”
“You sure, baby?”
“Customize it to say property of Tommy Kinard and it’s perfect.”
Tommy grins at him before putting in the order and says, “yeah, you’re right. It’s perfect. Good choice, baby boy.”