[ collars have an appeal. there is something about something simple that has to be framed against where the human body is most vulnerable, drawing attention to and emphasizing the lines of the neck and throat -- even better that by nature they're attachments points for leashes, for fingers to pull at, and tugging someone by their very throats carries an air of threat and control to it that nothing else quite carries. all the associations with leashes and collars, too. ownership. possessiveness. objectification. wash is comfortable with what he enjoys, and natasha surely isn't naive to how she looks wearing it, especially with how goddamn quickly she sees straight through him.
terrifying. or it should be. there's part of him that tenses instinctively, anyway, hackles raised, but. he admires it about her. appreciates it, likes it, even directed to him, and. when did he learn to trust her enough?
a question he'll have to linger on later. right now, with natasha so close, her hand on his, pulling him down. he looks back at her, a small nearly imperceptibly slightly too-sharp draw in breath that he knows she'd notice, and her hand lifted to her collar does exactly what she intended it to, his gaze immediately flicking to follow the movement.
he meets her eyes again. a slight lean forward, turning his hand against hers but not pulling away, his other hand lifting to touch two fingertips just against the side of her neck, just under the collar. he follows the line of it around to her throat, holding her gaze the entire time as he does, fingers tucking just behind the ring. ]
It's nice.
[ said so very, very mildly. less because he's trying to obfuscate how much part of him clearly sees the appeal, but more because -- well. big brother is watching. and natasha certainly didn't ask for big brother to fit a pretty collar around her neck. a pause, and he shifts his hand more under hers, fingers curving slightly around her wrist. ]
-- You wanted to talk?
[ he gets stalling. but he also knows it when he sees it. they can stall more if she wants. ]
( tension grows, pulls taut between them, fed by the sudden intake of breath and the way his eyes are fixed to the leather around her neck. she's watching him, not only because she enjoys it, but to really see him — but there's nothing in his eyes that implies possession, nothing that has the cold curdling edge to it that speaks of cages and capture. he has a kink or a fetish, an interest in it — but it's not pathological. he wouldn't want to see her caged just for fun.
natasha shivers under his light fingertips, a reaction she could have suppressed but she didn't want to. this has to be a two way street. otherwise —
he doesn't tug at the collar. doesn't pull her to him, even though he could. he just waits, carefully, and she tucks herself closer to his side, pressing the hand in his to his wrist to measure his pulse absently. if anyone were to peer in the room window, there'd be nothing out of the ordinary, just a couple enjoying each other's company. a submissive with her dominant. )
Yes. ( the word is breathed out against his cheek, but she finally drops her gaze, staring at their clasped hands for a long moment as she rehearses the words. she could keep stalling. talk about nothing. kiss him. fuck him, even. but that wouldn't make it better. and she's afraid of so little that putting this out in the open feels insurmountable. but... )
Sign a contract with me. ( it's halfway between a request and an order and she bites her lower lip, unaccustomed to saying anything less than exactly what she means to get across. still, at least it's honest. 'i want to sign with you' feels too much like a lie to start this on.
does she want to learn more about him? yes. does she enjoy sex with him? undoubtedly. does she want to contractually belong to him? hmm. )
[ its hard to for most people to grasp just how carefully deliberate wash is about even small interactions -- he's learned to ease up but it's still about projecting a sense of it than actually being it. a skill and a way of being that he's been forced into, by necessity, that he can't quite let go of. it's one of the first things he recognized about natasha, that gave him the sense that, well, she was someone to be careful about -- but also, they had something in common.
so when he feels that shiver -- he knows she let herself do it. that she's letting him feel it. and it could mean a few different things, could be a carefully practiced reaction, a convincing lie. but wash, uncharacteristically, in a way he'll have to pull apart later, is continuing to choose to see it differently. there's give and there's take. small, mutual pieces. genuine trust. when it comes to learning about someone, wash tends to give up pieces of himself more than he asks. gentle suggestions for exchange, knowing that there's more weight in anything freely given. most people don't recognize that's what he's doing, don't understand the weight that wash places on someone giving him anything about themselves, when he can't forget any of it. natasha, though. natasha does. he's sure she does.
so he leans into her further, when he feels that slight tremble, when she tucks herself more against his side. he lets an instinctive always-held tension ease from his shoulders, until what's left is just the tension of this, between them, the pull of the moment itself. his pulse picks up noticeably as she presses her touch to his wrist, another slightly too sharp inhale of air when her voice ghosts against his cheek. and that pause. he knows that pause, too.
he wouldn't blame her for stalling. and really, he would've been happy to let her do it. but then she says it, with enough of an air of authority to mask the inherent vulnerability that comes with it. and wash knows, too, that -- it doesn't have to be like that. even with the stricter laws, maybe more so with them. she doesn't have to trust him with this. but it would make tings much, much easier, and. she's trying.
slowly, he lets his fingertips, still pressed to the dip of her throat, curve slightly into the metal ring at the front of her collar. and although he could, he doesn't pull her by it. instead, he leans back himself, enough to look her in the eye, his other hand shifting so he can hold natasha's own in a more steady grip. ]
Feels like you ran out of other options.
[ wry, some attempt at carrying his humor from before forward. his hand shifts against her neck, fingers spreading across her collarbone, letting his thumb brush against that metal ring, instead, pushing it aside so he can press it into her clavicle. ]
( he hesitates. or — because it feels to intentional to really be a hesitation, and washington is nothing if not intentional — he pauses. she hasn't caught him by surprise; he's too smart to not have put 2 and 2 together with her text. still, he responds to her the way he always does. pulse, elevated. an sudden intake of breath. he wants her, but she's been wanted so often by so many that it hardly feels noteworthy.
what is noteworthy, what makes all the difference is he doesn't leap at the opportunity with both hands. his fingertip brushes the hollow of her throat, curves through the ring and she forces a breath, swell of her breasts pressing against his knuckles. she's offering herself on a platter, they both know it, and still he pauses. holds her hand. watches her, carefully, and she knows he's looking for any sign of hesitation. had he reacted differently, she'd have had a hell of a lot to show him. there's still a flicker of regret in her eyes, though; what could they have been without this? without the program, without the contract? if they'd met under different circumstances?
they'd never know. )
They changed the rules of the game. ( 'they' being the creator. the new guidelines for submissives, including the collar around her neck. she needs to be with someone who understands that more than they understand her. who won't blink when she tries to take this entire system down from the inside.
his hand is warm against her skin, calloused. natasha shivers again, nails biting into the back of his hand where their palms are pressed together. she knows her heart is beating fast in her chest, eyes dilating in a way he won't fail to notice. )
I'm sure. ( she worries her lower lip with her teeth, letting out the last bit of tension in her shoulders, searching his eyes. he hasn't said yes, yet. he might not say yes. ) If you'll have me.
[ they did change the rules, and it does make a difference -- but maybe not too much of one. of course it matters, gone from something that would've been easy to write off, sign some paperwork and simply live separate lives to this. a deeper obligation. a collar. but as much as wash might've played lightly at the idea of contracts before, there was still always a level of calculation to it. careful detachment. he'd stayed with a year with a man he absolutely could not trust, knowing it the whole time. making any kind of commitment to any kind of real trust. it would've mattered too much even then.
even more with her. because they've seen enough of each other, just through their back and forth, quiet mutual recognition in each other's patterns, to painful truths pulled from somewhere deep and dark that night on the beach -- more than enough to know that they both see things more alike than not. others trust easily, and wash may feel strange around it, but he knows that's simply because -- they're wrong. allowed to be naïve, because people like him exist to be more careful where it's needed. but natasha isn't that, they're both probably too careful, and.
its deliberate. every single thing. natasha shivers again, her pulse starting to race, something darkening in her eyes. wash fully believes she could make all of that happen just by choice, if she wanted. but she's not, and he believes that, fully, and he peels back his own layers in turn, lets her hear and feel the hitch in his breath, the quiet rumble that starts in the back of his throat. he leans even closer, that distance between them closing even more. there's always something hawkish in his gaze, too sharp, too focused, taking in every single detail around him -- but now that focus is entirely on her, hungry, wanting. but searching, still. searching, for any doubt, hesitation -- and recognizing that she's searching for the same in him, too.
there's a plunge to take. ]
Yeah. [ a beat. he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. his grip tightens over her, hand, then relaxes again. a flicker of tension. and again, more sure, as his hand against that collar slides up -- he could pull her forward by it, could hook his fingers into the leather or into that ring. but he's making a point, here, as his hand settles against her nape, as he uses that to pull her even closer. no more searching, in his gaze, just. fact. ] Yes.
We'll do this.
[ the yes was supposed to be the hard part, but natasha is certainly close enough to notice some uncertainty in him again when he says we -- but it's a plunge. he sticks with it. and he waits for just a moment, to see her response, but -- not too long before that hand at the back of her neck hauls her even closer, almost into his lap, his other hand finally pulling away from hers just so he can lift it to her face, pressing his thumb against her lower lip and pulling her in for a kiss. ]
Edited (honestly literally just for the word naive) 2023-10-11 16:29 (UTC)
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terrifying. or it should be. there's part of him that tenses instinctively, anyway, hackles raised, but. he admires it about her. appreciates it, likes it, even directed to him, and. when did he learn to trust her enough?
a question he'll have to linger on later. right now, with natasha so close, her hand on his, pulling him down. he looks back at her, a small nearly imperceptibly slightly too-sharp draw in breath that he knows she'd notice, and her hand lifted to her collar does exactly what she intended it to, his gaze immediately flicking to follow the movement.
he meets her eyes again. a slight lean forward, turning his hand against hers but not pulling away, his other hand lifting to touch two fingertips just against the side of her neck, just under the collar. he follows the line of it around to her throat, holding her gaze the entire time as he does, fingers tucking just behind the ring. ]
It's nice.
[ said so very, very mildly. less because he's trying to obfuscate how much part of him clearly sees the appeal, but more because -- well. big brother is watching. and natasha certainly didn't ask for big brother to fit a pretty collar around her neck. a pause, and he shifts his hand more under hers, fingers curving slightly around her wrist. ]
-- You wanted to talk?
[ he gets stalling. but he also knows it when he sees it. they can stall more if she wants. ]
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natasha shivers under his light fingertips, a reaction she could have suppressed but she didn't want to. this has to be a two way street. otherwise —
he doesn't tug at the collar. doesn't pull her to him, even though he could. he just waits, carefully, and she tucks herself closer to his side, pressing the hand in his to his wrist to measure his pulse absently. if anyone were to peer in the room window, there'd be nothing out of the ordinary, just a couple enjoying each other's company. a submissive with her dominant. )
Yes. ( the word is breathed out against his cheek, but she finally drops her gaze, staring at their clasped hands for a long moment as she rehearses the words. she could keep stalling. talk about nothing. kiss him. fuck him, even. but that wouldn't make it better. and she's afraid of so little that putting this out in the open feels insurmountable. but... )
Sign a contract with me. ( it's halfway between a request and an order and she bites her lower lip, unaccustomed to saying anything less than exactly what she means to get across. still, at least it's honest. 'i want to sign with you' feels too much like a lie to start this on.
does she want to learn more about him? yes. does she enjoy sex with him? undoubtedly. does she want to contractually belong to him? hmm. )
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so when he feels that shiver -- he knows she let herself do it. that she's letting him feel it. and it could mean a few different things, could be a carefully practiced reaction, a convincing lie. but wash, uncharacteristically, in a way he'll have to pull apart later, is continuing to choose to see it differently. there's give and there's take. small, mutual pieces. genuine trust. when it comes to learning about someone, wash tends to give up pieces of himself more than he asks. gentle suggestions for exchange, knowing that there's more weight in anything freely given. most people don't recognize that's what he's doing, don't understand the weight that wash places on someone giving him anything about themselves, when he can't forget any of it. natasha, though. natasha does. he's sure she does.
so he leans into her further, when he feels that slight tremble, when she tucks herself more against his side. he lets an instinctive always-held tension ease from his shoulders, until what's left is just the tension of this, between them, the pull of the moment itself. his pulse picks up noticeably as she presses her touch to his wrist, another slightly too sharp inhale of air when her voice ghosts against his cheek. and that pause. he knows that pause, too.
he wouldn't blame her for stalling. and really, he would've been happy to let her do it. but then she says it, with enough of an air of authority to mask the inherent vulnerability that comes with it. and wash knows, too, that -- it doesn't have to be like that. even with the stricter laws, maybe more so with them. she doesn't have to trust him with this. but it would make tings much, much easier, and. she's trying.
slowly, he lets his fingertips, still pressed to the dip of her throat, curve slightly into the metal ring at the front of her collar. and although he could, he doesn't pull her by it. instead, he leans back himself, enough to look her in the eye, his other hand shifting so he can hold natasha's own in a more steady grip. ]
Feels like you ran out of other options.
[ wry, some attempt at carrying his humor from before forward. his hand shifts against her neck, fingers spreading across her collarbone, letting his thumb brush against that metal ring, instead, pushing it aside so he can press it into her clavicle. ]
You're sure?
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what is noteworthy, what makes all the difference is he doesn't leap at the opportunity with both hands. his fingertip brushes the hollow of her throat, curves through the ring and she forces a breath, swell of her breasts pressing against his knuckles. she's offering herself on a platter, they both know it, and still he pauses. holds her hand. watches her, carefully, and she knows he's looking for any sign of hesitation. had he reacted differently, she'd have had a hell of a lot to show him. there's still a flicker of regret in her eyes, though; what could they have been without this? without the program, without the contract? if they'd met under different circumstances?
they'd never know. )
They changed the rules of the game. ( 'they' being the creator. the new guidelines for submissives, including the collar around her neck. she needs to be with someone who understands that more than they understand her. who won't blink when she tries to take this entire system down from the inside.
his hand is warm against her skin, calloused. natasha shivers again, nails biting into the back of his hand where their palms are pressed together. she knows her heart is beating fast in her chest, eyes dilating in a way he won't fail to notice. )
I'm sure. ( she worries her lower lip with her teeth, letting out the last bit of tension in her shoulders, searching his eyes. he hasn't said yes, yet. he might not say yes. ) If you'll have me.
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even more with her. because they've seen enough of each other, just through their back and forth, quiet mutual recognition in each other's patterns, to painful truths pulled from somewhere deep and dark that night on the beach -- more than enough to know that they both see things more alike than not. others trust easily, and wash may feel strange around it, but he knows that's simply because -- they're wrong. allowed to be naïve, because people like him exist to be more careful where it's needed. but natasha isn't that, they're both probably too careful, and.
its deliberate. every single thing. natasha shivers again, her pulse starting to race, something darkening in her eyes. wash fully believes she could make all of that happen just by choice, if she wanted. but she's not, and he believes that, fully, and he peels back his own layers in turn, lets her hear and feel the hitch in his breath, the quiet rumble that starts in the back of his throat. he leans even closer, that distance between them closing even more. there's always something hawkish in his gaze, too sharp, too focused, taking in every single detail around him -- but now that focus is entirely on her, hungry, wanting. but searching, still. searching, for any doubt, hesitation -- and recognizing that she's searching for the same in him, too.
there's a plunge to take. ]
Yeah. [ a beat. he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. his grip tightens over her, hand, then relaxes again. a flicker of tension. and again, more sure, as his hand against that collar slides up -- he could pull her forward by it, could hook his fingers into the leather or into that ring. but he's making a point, here, as his hand settles against her nape, as he uses that to pull her even closer. no more searching, in his gaze, just. fact. ] Yes.
We'll do this.
[ the yes was supposed to be the hard part, but natasha is certainly close enough to notice some uncertainty in him again when he says we -- but it's a plunge. he sticks with it. and he waits for just a moment, to see her response, but -- not too long before that hand at the back of her neck hauls her even closer, almost into his lap, his other hand finally pulling away from hers just so he can lift it to her face, pressing his thumb against her lower lip and pulling her in for a kiss. ]
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