Work Text:
Primož doesn't know why Tom asks this of him, but Tom asks it of him with quiet confidence, and so Primož obliges.
The collar is burgundy, with a brass loop that sits in the hollow of his throat, cold at first, but slowly warming to his body temperature. It's tight, but not restrictively so, with enough room for Tom's pinky finger to slide between the faux leather and Primož's skin.
Sometimes, Tom asks with words - puppy, do you want to play tonight? - and other times, he asks merely by holding the collar in one hand, letting it dangle from a finger hypnotically, watching Primož intently for an answer.
Primož always says yes.
The first night they did this, it wasn't sexual. That would've been too much for Primož. All it was, was an exercise in self-control.
There were a handful of simple rules that Tom told him as he gently fastened the collar around his neck. Nothing that sounded too difficult to Primož.
"What is a collar for?" Tom had asked, seemingly rhetorically.
Primož had answered anyway. "To show who a dog belongs to."
"Exactly," Tom smiled. "And who puts the collar on the dog?"
"The master."
"Good boy," Tom had said, his voice warm. "Do you like this collar?"
"Yes, Tom."
Tom clicked his tongue. "Not quite. Do you like this collar, puppy?"
Beginning to understand, Primož had answered, "Yes, sir."
"Good boy," Tom had said again, withdrawing his hands from Primož's throat and standing up.
"What is it that, uh, puppies do?" Primož had asked, still sitting on the couch. "I don't really know."
Tom had looked at Primož, cupped his chin in his fingertips. "Puppies do as they're told, of course. They are trained. They're rewarded when they're good, and punished when they're bad. Like when they sit on the furniture without permission," Tom had said with emphasis, and Primož had slid down onto the floor, embarrassed.
"What else?"
"A puppy should be quiet until asked to speak. No one likes to hear a puppy bark all the time."
Primož, learning quickly, had nodded.
"Good boy. I'm getting a drink. Stay."
Primož had stayed, and when Tom had returned with a glass of wine, Primož didn't ask for one of his own, nor did he suggest a TV show to watch, nor did he sit on the couch and cuddle up against Tom like usual.
He had remained on the floor, cheek resting on Tom's knee, relishing the occasional scratch of fingertips against his scalp.
The collar had taken some getting used to - it had kept getting caught on the fabric of Primož’s shirts in a way that was distracting at best and uncomfortable at worst. That problem had been easily fixed, Tom coaxing Primož out of his shirt and taking his time folding it neatly while Primož watched from the floor.
But now, Primož sits at Tom’s heels, shirt off, collar proudly on display, well trained, like all good dogs.
Sometimes, Tom sits on the couch with his legs spread wide, gesturing for Primož to sit between them. From this angle, Primož can see the bulge of his cock in whatever pants he happens to be wearing. It's the most prominent in chinos, there being just enough give in the fabric to tent around him, but Primož prefers the feeling of sweatpants against his face as he presses his nose against the hard heat in front of him.
"Easy," Tom murmurs, pushing his head away gently, and Primož feels the saliva begin to accumulate in his mouth, Pavlovian.
Watching Tom undo his fly is hypnotic, and Primož finds himself shifting on his heels in anticipation, not breaking eye contact until he hears the soft shift of fabric, and he is given permission to look.
Primož is greedy as he looks on, drinking in the sight of Tom's cock right in front of him like he's dying of thirst, watches Tom's big hand wrap around himself and slowly pull the foreskin down to reveal the tip, shiny and red and practically begging for Primož to put his mouth on it.
"Do you want it?" Tom asks, holding it just out of Primož's reach.
Primož nods, and opens his mouth to display the wet flat of his tongue.
The tip is all Tom lets him have like this, so Primož is restrained to licking and sucking at it, teasing both himself and Tom, whose breathing and body language seems unbothered the whole time.
It always seems as though Tom gets bored of this before the end, pulling back and working himself over quickly with his hand. Primož keeps his mouth open in the hope that Tom gives him back what he wants, but while the collar is on, he only gets the taste of whatever lands on his face, close enough to his lips.
When Primož does this without the collar, Tom lets it show, the warm tenor of his voice quaking as he runs his fingers through Primož's hair.
One day, Primož is waiting for Tom to come home from some engagement or another. He's impatient about it, because Tom said he'd be home at least ten minutes ago, and he's late.
Primož knows he can be patient - he just needs a little help.
He knows where Tom keeps the collar, because Tom sometimes makes a big show of pulling it out of its box in the drawer for him. It's a bit tricky to fasten on his own, fingertips clumsy around his neck, but he manages, and soon it's sitting as it should, hiding in the bulk of his hoodie despite the interference of it with the way the collar is positioned.
He goes back and sits on the floor by the coffee table, thinking of Tom's deep voice telling him to stay. This makes it much easier to wait.
The rattle of keys in the door disrupts his blissfully empty reverie, and he's on his feet as the door hinges creak slightly and Tom calls, "Hi, Primož!"
Tom chuckles as Primož throws his arms around Tom's neck and holds him close, craving the contact. "I didn't leave for too long, did I? I wasn't too late?"
Primož shakes his head, and Tom kisses him softly, fingers smoothing over the cowlicks of his hair until they nudge the edge of the collar.
"What's this?"
"I missed you," Primož says by way of an explanation. "I had to wait."
"I'm sorry for making you wait, puppy," Tom soothes. "You've been so good for being so patient."
Primož isn't always sure how Tom decides if he's been good or not. Maybe it's on a whim - whatever he feels like doing on a given day.
If he's good, he gets little privileges, things he would normally take for granted. Sitting on the sofa curled up against Tom, red wine passed between them, hands cool from the glass as they caress his bare chest.
Tom likes to touch him like this, palming over his crotch until he's squirming in his seat, until Tom relents in kindness and gives Primož the tight grip of his hand to rut into.
As the movement of the hand around him gets quicker, and the thumb plays rougher over the head of his cock, Primož can't hold back the little whines and whimpers that he lets out. Tom's mouth is warm on his bare skin, a grounding reminder of his place in the room, on the sofa, beside Tom.
He can't help it - as Tom pulls on the ring at the front of the collar to kiss him properly, Primož moans Tom's name, long and drawn out between them as he comes in hot streaks over Tom's fingers.
It's a rule broken, but one that Tom lets slide, murmuring back, "Good boy, that's it, good boy."
As he catches his breath, swallowing his saliva and feeling his Adam’s apple press against the collar, the words feel warm in his chest.
Good boy.