So I think I have a little problem.

Myself. Me.

As in, I say yes to things I probably shouldn’t and I’m easily swayed by a pretty face and/or a big package if you know what I’m saying. Sue me. (Actually don’t, I have neither the time nor the money)

Anyway, I say this because if I didn’t have a problem I would have most definitely not said yes to… this. This being a stupidly cliche date on Christmas with someone I literally have only known for three to four-and-some-change days. What is this, a princess movie?

And I know I said I didn’t want conventional but I still have standards for- well, I don’t have many standards for anything but I suppose safety is safety. I wear my seatbelt most of the time, alright? There’s just some line that feels right when it comes to some things, you know? Run like the wind if you’re walking up the stairs in the dark and all that.

*Bzzzt* *Bzzzt*

A text shakes me from my thoughts, the words ‘I’m picking you up in five’ making my stomach swoop in eager anticipation, fingers hurrying to button my shirt and yank my skinny jeans a little higher as the muffled sound of Christmas carols press against the windows. I shiver a little when the plug inside of me shifts, sending a little thrill of pleasure up my spine as I adjust my hat and try to rid the color from my cheeks.

Yeah, he asked me to wear the plug and of course, I said yes.

Ugh, flashback to the aforementioned ‘I have a problem and I’m weak to pretty faces’.

And it really is a pretty face. Something really worth looking at what with those sinfully skilled lips and product softened scruff, quick laughing eyes that could easily take you apart or build you back up with one approving look and cheekbones that I could cut myself on if I just- and I’m getting distracted again.

A knock on the door makes my semi-steady heartbeat trip over itself, feet already moving to undo the latch and open the door so he can come in. Can smile and pet and touch me again like I’ve been craving for him to do since we left each other this morning. Humongous sap alert right here.

“Hi.”

I say, a smile pulling at my lips as I appraise his outfit approvingly and pull him in for a kiss, hands finding his shoulders and eyes slipping shut as his fingers slip into my hair firmly to direct the intensity and speed of it; my hat falling to the floor as his fingers twist through the locks.

I moan, pressing myself desperately against him as he chuckles and grips my hair tighter, a small whine hissing past my teeth as my head tilts back to follow his hand and his lips find my neck; tongue and teeth leisurely following as he takes his time doing what he likes. Always what he likes.

And I let him.

Let him have me in any way he wants because I love it.

“I have a present for you.”

He murmurs against my shoulder, having both unzipped my coat and undone the few top buttons on my shirt to gain access to bare skin as he mouths and kisses his way to wherever he wants.

“Yeah?”

He hums in affirmation, fingers tugging at my hair once again and pulling another moan from my chest as the tingles from my scalp melt into promising pleasure rivaling the plug pressing against the sensitive spots inside of me.

A present?

Now he has my attention.

...not like he didn’t have my absolute attention before with the swoon-worthy kisses and chocolate smooth words but I digress.

He pulls away and I’m left panting, dazed and hazy with a blissed-out expression and tingly lips; skin feeling oversensitive from where he’s murmuring and biting against it.

“Should I give it to you now?”

He muses, fingers unwinding from their tight grasp to pet soothingly across my head and down my neck, settling there in a completely calming gesture that would be completely creepy if done by anyone else but him. Damn him.

“I dearly hope for your sake this present is food.”

I respond dryly, trying not to sound too breathless as I slide my hands under his jacket and use the excuse of looking for said present as an opportunity to feel him up, lingering only just too long to be indecent before giving his rear a squeeze as I withdraw a rectangular box from his back pocket, holding it up and giving it a little wave.

He smiles and nods, a little nod being given in a gesture meant for me to open it.

I do, hurriedly ripping through the tape and ribbon and purposefully ignoring the flutter in my chest as I open the jewelry box and gasp quietly at the contents within. It’s a collar, pretty and soft and thin and black, supple leather glinting dimly in the orangey fluorescent lights of my apartment.

The ‘property of C. H.’ engraved onto the beautiful silver lock pendant would almost make me laugh if I could make any sound at all, my fingers reverently running over the tiny, butter-soft stitching and wondering longingly how it would feel against -around- my neck.

“What do you say if you want things to stop?”

He reminds me in a controlled, quiet tone, not wanting to break the moment but telling me -as always- that I have choices in this. In everything. That I can say no just as easily as I can say yes.

“I say ‘Red’.”

I say breathlessly in response, feeling a wave of calmness wash over me at his approving hum, thoughts and attention quickly returning to the object in my hands as I carefully pull the collar from its packaging and feel it more fully in my fingers.

The lock brings the ends of the leather together, the leather being thin enough so it could easily bend around my neck and lay flat either under or over my clothes. The only thing missing was the key to open it, and a quick search told me it was nowhere in the box.

He clears his throat, gaining my attention as I look up to him wondrously and watch as he reaches just underneath the collar of his shirt and withdraws a small key on the end of a chain, smiling almost nervously in his silent admission of… this, what he’s offering to me by presenting the collar and showing me the key already hanging around his neck.

“...I hope this alright, I know it’s not food but…”

I laugh, maybe cry a little, somewhere in between as my rushed exhale of a laugh is broken off by a sniffling hiccup, head nodding ‘yes!’ as I’m reaching for the key and pushing it into the lock so I can clasp the collar around my neck and click it shut again.

Mine. He’s mine now.

And I’m his.

Remember what I was saying about having something wrong with me? I shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy with my rash decisions but-

“You don’t know how happy that makes me, Gorgeous.”

-but how can I not.

With him, all glassy eyed and smiling soft like that and I can’t seem to stop touching the leather now settled comfortably around my neck, metal cool against my skin but quickly warming as I watch his gaze stay locked onto where it sits; fingers reaching out and tugging me close to him so he can kiss me senseless again.

Yeah… so I make rash, potentially unsafe decisions but I’m pretty happy.

--

I can’t seem to stop touching the collar, marveling at how the lock would warm against my skin if we were inside then chill once we stepped out only to heat up again when we ducked into another store. It was fascinatingly simple, something rather ordinary that I wouldn’t have usually noticed but- I couldn’t seem to help myself.

He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of it either, the grip around my shoulders tightening for a split second as I caught him eyeing the collar with a happy, smug, and giddy sort of look before he would return his attention forward. Maybe leaning down for a quick kiss that made a tremble that had nothing to do with the cold rush through me.

If it were a week earlier I would have been annoyed at how easily he could draw out a reaction from me, honestly, I probably would have smacked him. But that was before... This. Whatever this wonderful thing is.

“Mm, good boy.”

He whispers, hand sliding down to tap the base of the plug as we wait for the movie to start; my cheeks heating with ashamedly aroused embarrassment as I shift restlessly, trying to push back against his hand and forcing down a whine when he only tsks in my ear; musing something about me being impatient.

I’d like to see what he would do if I stuck my hand down his pants.

“Please…”

I beg quietly, clenching around the plug as his hand burns warmly against the chilled skin at my hip, snug against me as he works his way around the waistband of my pants, rubbing his fingers over the bulge at the front. His touch never ceases to excite me even though it feels like it’s the only thing we’ve been doing since we met. Hey, if it ain’t broke, right?

He shushes me, murmuring soothing things that I can’t all the way hear but take comfort in nonetheless as he casually undoes the front of my pants and unzips my fly so smoothly it’s like we’re not totally doing something that would make my dear nana smack the back of my head in disapproval for. The ringing of her voice saying ‘if it’s meant for the bedroom it should stay in the bedroom’ echoes in the recesses of my brain at the thought.

Well, sorry nana. At least we’re seated in the back?

My lip aches from where I'm biting it, my teeth surely imprinting on the skin as my eyes flutter closed; a muffled whimper being ripped from my throat regardless as he tuts at the state of my arousal before taking me in hand and stroking firmly. I arch into him, trying to decide whether to push back against the plug or up into his warmth as my cheek rubs a little harder against the soft material at the shoulder of his jacket still slightly damp from snow; my desperation being moderately soothed only by his lips murmuring softly in my ear, telling me I'm good and beautiful like the sap he is. As if he's not the one driving me to madness by his possessive strokes and then featherlight caresses.