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It’s the first time they’ve had compatible shifts off in over a month, and Hugh knows that it won’t last. He doesn’t want to test their luck. He doesn’t want to risk going down to the mess hall or even to the observation lounge, because as soon as they face any outside stimulus, Paul is going to get a sudden wave of inspiration and run back down to his precious Engineering. Or maybe someone will need patching up, and Hugh will get called in to help. Worse yet, Lorca will pick another fight, and they’ll end up at their battle stations. A million things could go wrong.
In the safety of their quarters, something will still go wrong, but Hugh pushes his luck anyway. He pulls the trunk out from under his bunk while Paul sits on his bed, eyes closed and expression tight. Every so often, he gives a little huff of annoyance at having to wait. Hugh isn’t being deliberately slow, but he’s tempted, because Paul’s so desperately cute when he’s frustrated, and that’s amusing in itself.
But they can enjoy that any day. On their short bout of free time, on a day when they’re not both exhausted from a grueling day of ship’s operations, Hugh pulls out the item he specially synthesized last week. It feels long and heavy in his hands, bigger than he’d pictured it, exquisitely designed with an engraved pendant on the front that might make Paul laugh. Paul asks, “Can I open my eyes yet?”
“Not yet,” Hugh insists. He stuffs the trunk away and stands up, walking over, then takes a minute just to take it in: Paul ripe and ready for him, dressed down in a casual maroon shirt and crisp pants that may as well be painted on. He’s a beautiful specimen, and he’s all Hugh’s. Hugh gingerly presses the thick material against Paul’s throat and carefully wraps it around.
He fastens the latch in the back, letting the sleek metal click into place. Then he runs his finger underneath it, up against the heat of Paul’s skin, making sure it’s not too tight. He gives a little tug that makes Paul’s breath catch.
He leans in and presses his lips against Paul’s, savouring a light, chaste kiss before he pulls away. Then he murmurs, “Now.”
Paul’s eyes flutter open. He tries to look down but probably can’t see more than the end of the pendant hanging from a silver loop. His hands lift to tentatively touch the collar, and he lifts one pale brow, asking, “Are we getting kinky now?”
Hugh’s fingers curl under Paul’s chin. He lifts it, just examining and enjoying Paul’s handsome face. He points out, “You said anything I wanted.”
A grin twists across Paul’s lips. He did say that, but they both know he didn’t mean anything. Hugh still knows his partner reasonably well, and he figured this wouldn’t prove too offensive.
Paul says, “You better not be picturing me as some unruly dog.”
Hugh snorts. “You’re much too prissy for a dog. You’re more like...” He fishes around for a moment, running through all the different pets in the universe, especially the ones that think they’re expensive and like to be praised. He finally settles on, “A show cat.”
Paul pauses for a moment, then deems: “Acceptable. ...And I suppose you’re my ‘owner’?”
“That’s the general idea.”
The grin grows wider. Hugh already knows they’re going to have fun. If Paul was going to reject the theme, he would’ve done so the second he felt the collar close around his neck. Instead, he leans in to Hugh’s next kiss, eagerly returning it with tongue and teeth. Hugh keeps meaning to pull away and start the string of commands that’ll cement their game, but he gets lost in the blissful ebb and flow of Paul’s mouth, stalling through kisses.
Without stopping, he slots his finger through the hoop at the front, ready to tug Paul off the bunk by it—he synthesized a leash too, but figured he’d introduce them one step at a time. One of his games, and then it’s Paul’s turn. But Paul seems blessedly into this one.
Hugh finally parts them enough to soak in another look at Paul branded with his name. Paul’s eyes flicker to his lips, lashes heavy and cheeks flushed. Hugh’s so ready to go.
But the computer beeps, streaming an incoming transmission without the courtesy of asking them first. Captain Lorca’s voice orders, “Lieutenant Stamets, report to Engineering immediately.”
Paul’s eyes close, teeth grit together. If possible, he looks even more pissed off than Hugh is, and Hugh’s the one having his prime fantasy interrupted. Paul hisses, “I loathe that man.”
In the moment, Hugh does too. But he doesn’t say it aloud. With an irritated sigh, Paul slides past Hugh and off the bed. He moves towards the door.
Hugh mutters, “Paul.”
Paul stops, glancing back. Hugh reaches out to unfasten the collar. That’s a view just for him. The slip up brings Paul’s grin back.
He gives Hugh another kiss, then goes.