#aronovic

It's a bit comical to see Dino, in all of his gangly limbs and straight lines, folded up on the floor next to the bed, his shoulder magnetically sealed to it, like a dog lying its chin suggestively on the mattress.

Luke is actually on the bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone and hardly sharing Dino or Paul a glance, almost acting like they don't even exist.

Although they're on different planes, because Luke is lying down and Dino is sat up straight as a board, they're still almost at eye level with each other, and Paul can actually feel Luke fighting with himself to keep his head forward, fighting the urge to turn to Dino and whistle a command to allow him on the bed, or maybe hiss at him.

Down, he'd push harshly through his teeth, because the wispy ends of Dino's hair have been tickling at his cheek. Paul can see it, can see the twitch in Luke's jaw every time it happens.

It hasn't come to that point quite yet, though, and Luke seems to be feeling kind today, because his arm suddenly slinks off the bed, his hand crawling towards Dino, fingers creeping up his neck and sneaking into–

Right. The collar.

Dino's neck has been fitted with a snug, nylon collar; Ferrari red, of course, because this whole thing started out as an honest to God joke, so naturally Dino would pick red. Back then, none of them could have expected it to spiral like it has.

Paul has one too, a pale blue one with silver buckles, probably sitting in a drawer somewhere in Luke's room– he never tells them where they are. Luke will often just appear with the collars in hand, wordlessly offering them up, or sometimes just outright wrapping them around their necks without any warning. 

He hasn't been told to put it on today, but Paul is still waiting for the pin to drop, a knot of excitement in his stomach whenever Luke's gaze flicks towards him, like the command is finally going to come.

It hasn't yet, though, so Paul occupies himself by keeping his body still and focusing on Dino instead so he doesn't fidget and get sent to the kennel. The kennel that they don't own. Because they aren't that insane. Obviously.

He knows Dino likes this kind of thing just as much as Paul himself does, although his posture always looks the total opposite. He's always sat tightly, swallowing repeatedly underneath the confines of the collar; Paul even feels a little choked just watching Dino's adams apple jut sharply into the fabric.

But he insists that he likes it, that he likes being able to stare into the floor and focus on nothing but the sensation of being a pet, of being owned.

And, sure, Dino's always been particularly hyperactive, so Paul supposes that it kind of makes sense, that sometimes even Dino needs a break from his own endless energy at times.

Luke also likes it, even if he acts uncomfortable about it sometimes– guilty, ears folded back, like he's the one who should have the collar on, tugged back by a leash, even though it's always been the other way around.

It's just that… Luke doesn't like being mean; commanding, sure, that's fine, but sometimes the bossing and innate power imbalance starts to make him feel a bit queasy, unsteady on his feet.

So it isn't uncommon for them to go a few weeks without indulging in the collars and leashes and behavior play, because sometimes Luke will start to feel so terrible about it that it sours the entire thing for all of them.

Paul doesn't blame him; he's not sure he could execute it all with the same grace that Luke does, with the patience and acceptance of the weirder parts of it, like keeping them on the floor or in a designated corner of the room, and barking an order at them if they disobey. The bravery to treat them like animals. Like dogs.

But he knows Luke likes it, he can see it in the way his ankle twitches, and the way the wrinkles in the front of his pants slowly iron themselves out, stretched and strained.

Luke still has his fingers stuffed into the collar, fitting snugly against the column of Dino's throat, and it tightens it up enough that when Dino swallows again, the material squeezes his neck just enough that it looks like it should hurt.

And it might have, because Dino's eyes squeeze shut and he whimpers softly in his throat, a meek sound that feels like it shakes the entire room.

Luke's fingers twitch where they're still trapped between Dino's neck and the collar, and his eyes flick towards the sound, like he's contemplating something. He hums a soft, appraising noise, a low vocalization that sits comfortably beneath his tongue, and removes his fingers.

Dino's body language stays unchanged, though, still taut and nervous, although there is a slight twitch in his hands, a small, almost missable shift in the muscles in his legs, like he's just relaxed a bit. But only a bit.

Luke's mouth ticks up into a slight smile, and his eyes are soft, warm, as he shifts his hand into Dino's hair instead, carefully brushing through it.

Dino's eyes slip shut. He's always liked petting, more than Paul does, anyway. Paul likes the rougher stuff, the tugging and yanking and harsh commands, because he can always bark back and still get what he wants.

The gentler stuff has always been more Dino's style, even if he never verbally admits it. He likes to be taken care of, to be coddled and appreciated after a long day of being the class clown; he likes some of his boundless affection to be reciprocated every once and a while.

“Want to come to the bed?” Luke lilts, voice gentle and pitched up a bit more than usual, higher than how he talks to them on a normal day.

It's his “pet voice”, Paul has learned. He mistakenly heard it over the phone one day while sitting in the sim waiting for the admin to get it all set up– he called Luke on a whim just to pass the time, and in the five or so minutes they were chatting, Paul overheard Luke talking to his dog, and it felt like an electrical current zapped through Paul's spine when it registered, ticklish and all too familiar, and he had to fight with himself not to pop a boner in the middle of the sim.

The voice Luke uses on them doesn't go quite as high as it does with an actual animal, but it's still definitively condescending, the type of thing you'd use on a baby; on a lesser being. The tone alone has Paul's mouth going dry.

Dino slouches a bit, body relaxing with the careful motions of Luke's fingers through his hair, and so when his head sluggishly turns towards Luke, he has to tilt his head to look up at him.

Paul can't see much of his face from where he's sitting just adjacent to them, tucked away in the corner of the room, but he can still see the glassiness in Dino's eyes, the way his lashes hang heavily and flit against his skin.

But he doesn't respond immediately, and his jaw works pathetically, like he can't quite get the words to cooperate with his tongue.

Luke tilts his head forward slightly, like he's offering something.

“Do you?” He reiterates, a bit less patient this time. It's a farce, clearly; Luke's tone when he's pretending to be annoyed and when he's actually annoyed are two very different things, distinct enough that Paul's body has been conditioned to respond positively to one and not the other.

This one has warmth slithering up his spine, tingly and satisfying.

Dino coughs in his throat. “Yes. Please,” he rasps out, gravelly and desperate, obviously afraid of saying the wrong thing and being left on the floor to grow sore and achy.

“C'mon,” Luke juts his head to the side, gesturing to the bed and patting the spot next to him, disturbing the fluffy, feather stuffed duvet with the repeated motion.

When Dino stands up, it's like it's his first time ever doing it– he has to support himself against the bed, and his gaze repeatedly flicks between his hands and the floor, like he'll forget his footing if he doesn't check it every other second.

Luke shifts and moves his legs aside to allow Dino room to crawl onto the bed, and just when Dino begins floundering, looking around like he's unsure where to go, Luke opens his arm up and gestures to Dino to tuck himself into his side.

And he does exactly that. Dino gracelessly fumbles the rest of the way up the bed, the collar jingling with each unsteady movement, and then flops down, folding his arms up into his chest and lying his head against the softer, meaty part of Luke's waist.

Luke hums, satisfied, and looks down at Dino before resuming his previous petting, brushing his hand through Dino's hair and down his neck and over the broad part of his spine.

Paul sits, still as a statue as he watches the entire thing, hands folded in his lap and mouth running dry. He doesn't know whether it's a lack of something to drink, or jealousy.

He watches Dino's eyes slowly slip shut. He watches Luke's fingers fiddle with the gold buckle on the collar. And he watches Dino fall asleep with Luke's hand lingering heavily on his upper back.