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The collar is made of dark brown leather, smooth to the touch. It sits in a boxed-up bed of black fabric and has a single metal ring opposite the buckle. A leash lies next to it, leather and chain and clasp. Vimes stares.
“So we’re really doing this,” he says.
It’s as good a time as any, isn’t it? The two of them are wired up, spent, and ready to wring the demons from their bodies before the next day’s work. Vetinari holds the box outstretched like a gift, and Vimes can’t meet his eyes. They’ve just come from a meeting (yes, at this bloody hour) and Vetinari has sicced Vimes on sick bastards all day long. It doesn’t help that Vetinari had stopped Vimes on the way to this palace room and pushed him against the wall in a dark hallway and taken liberties with kissing Vimes’s throat, til Vimes dragged the tease all the way into this dark, bare place.
Vimes has been on the leash all damned day.
“Only if you wish, Vimes,” Vetinari says in that soft, truthful way he reserves for one man on the disc. “Whatever we do, you have the means to call it off.”
“I know. Just… where the hell’d you get those from?”
“I had them custom made. Discreetly,” he adds at the look on Vimes’s face, “from a trusted client. I am not a fool, as we are both well aware.”
“Most of the time,” Vimes mutters.
“I am electing to ignore that. Now, Commander, if you take that armor off, I might be persuaded to put this on your neck.”
“Might be persuaded?” Vimes scowls. “What’re you gonna do about it, then, sir?”
There, the kind of bite that’s lived in the back of his throat all day, waiting to tear out. Vetinari must know this, because he raises a single eyebrow in a way that very clearly says, Ah, so it’s that kind of evening. “If you insist on being disobedient,” Vetinari says, tucking the box with the collar and leash under his arm and raising his other hand; he advances in that special way of his that sends diplomats into fits and Vimes, very often, to his knees - “then I will do it myself.” His hand goes to the base of Vimes’s throat and nudges Vimes’s whole body against the wooden wall, and Vetinari leans in. Gods, he’s tall. Or Vimes is short, but it doesn’t matter: Vetinari towers over him, Vetinari is imperious, and Vetinari knows it.
Vimes seethes with heat as Vetinari puts his lips to his throat, peppers the skin with the gentlest kisses while his hand rests a light threat against Vimes’s trachea. Vimes leans his head back to expose more of his neck.
“Good boy,” Vetinari murmurs.
Fuck, okay. Yes. That’s why they talked about doing this. One too many “Good man”s in the Oblong Office had turned Vimes a curious shade of red, which the Patrician had clocked, naturally, like a godsdamned watchmaker… Now Vetinari sucks on Vimes’s neck like Vimes is wanted, like he’s something good, for gods’ sake-
Vimes is going to burst out of his fucking skin.
“Just - take the damned armor off already,” he huffs.
From his position at Vimes’s jawline, Vetinari grins. “But you were so resistant just now.”
Vetinari’s hand is against Vimes’s throat, and Vimes is very hard. “Please,” he says.
“Begging already? I thought you might have more patience.” Vetinari rests the box on the floor in order to devote two hands to undoing the buckles of Vimes’s armor. “But I suppose I might expect you to act the needy mutt.”
“Fuck you,” Vimes growls, while he simply thinks: Fuck, fuck, fuck. Vetinari lays each piece of armor gently on the floor, then gives attention to the buttons and ties of Vimes’s clothes. He gives extra attention to small brushes of the fingertips against Vimes’s thighs and arms and torso, just above his belt, so that Vimes is a raging mess beneath Vetinari’s hands before he’s even out of his clothes.
With each garment that comes off, Vetinari sucks a mark into Vimes’s skin. Vimes strains and shifts against his mouth, until Vetinari gets to his thigh - after Vimes’s underwear have come off, after his cock is exposed and vulnerable - and sucks a mark there, and that’s when Vimes moans at last: his spell of silence is broken.
(It always happens with them: Vimes waits, and waits, and then breaks, and after the snap there is nothing he can do - )
“Good boy,” Vetinari says again, and Vimes hates him for praising his noises, and Vimes is going to get back at him for this. He’s naked against the wall and Vetinari is fully clothed, appraising Vimes’s body with a look that makes fire snap behind the wall of Vimes’s teeth.
Vimes can’t tell what he feels when Vetinari bends to pick up that black box, but he knows it’s burning and defiant. He knows what he wants tonight. And that’s not always true.
Vetinari takes the collar from the box. Vimes watches his long fingers wrap around the leather, stroke and caress it, before undoing the buckle. Vetinari comes back to Vimes on light feet and moves in close and - he’s kissing Vimes, suddenly pressed up hard against him, and Vimes opens his mouth to take him. Vetinari is pressing his thigh between Vimes’s legs, and Vimes is in one of thirteen thousand or so heavens.
“Be a good boy and lift your chin up,” Vetinari says into his ear. Vimes keeps his eyes closed; Vetinari’s words are sharper that way, burrowing into his core. He lifts his chin up.
Cool, smooth leather rests against his throat. He pulls away from the wall enough for Vetinari to wrap the collar around his neck, then turns around so Vetinari has full access to the buckle. The collar goes tight as Vetinari fastens it. Then it’s done, and it’s heavy against Vimes’s neck, and it feels…
“Good?” Vetinari mutters, reviewing his work.
Vimes turns back to face him. “Real terrier now, aren’t I.”
“Ah, but Vimes, you always were.” In the low light - just streetlamps through a grimy window, casting the small room in orange and shadow - Vimes makes out the various blacks of Vetinari’s robes, the sharp cut of them, the silhouette of the man’s jaw and hair against the light. Bloody captivating, that man, always; and now Vetinari is reaching down into the box for the leash, and Vimes prepares himself.
“Yet disobedient dogs must be kept on a leash,” Vetinari says as he straightens up, metal chain limp in his fingers, and surely he has some sultry speech ready to assault Vimes’s senses, but Vimes won’t hear any of it. There is a straight arrow from Vimes to the bed, and Vetinari lies on the path of that arrow.
Naturally, Vimes lunges.
“Vimes-” His hands are on Vetinari’s arms, and he has the speed and leverage to push Vetinari forward and down onto the mattress. Vimes’s feet are still on the floor, but he holds Vetinari’s wrists down firmly, and his legs are between Vetinari’s legs, keeping the man pinned down on his back. As Vetinari falls, the leash in his hand jangles against itself.
A stripe of orange illuminates Vetinari’s eyes, enough for Vimes to walk a quick patrol: bright blue and wide with surprise, yet the pupils are blown wide. Vetinari’s thin mouth falls open.
“Vimes?” Vetinari questions, with a slight rasp.
Vimes says, “Whatever we do, you have the means to call it off.”
“I… do not particularly wish to do so at the moment,” says Vetinari.
Vimes savors the power in his arms, the copper-built strength of them. Vetinari is a snake, yes, might wriggle himself out of the most impossible hole, but Vimes is strong, and that snake can’t get out of his grasp. Vetinari tries - pushes against Vimes’s grip, wriggles his legs and torso - but Vimes just grins at him.
“You’re not getting that leash on me,” says Vimes, “not tonight.”
Vetinari narrows his eyes. “Is that a challenge, Commander?”
Isn’t everything we say to each other? “Even if you do, I’ll still be the one fucking you.”
“Yet you still let me put that collar ‘round your neck.”
“Yes,” says Vimes, leaning right down into Vetinari’s face, practically spitting in it, “because I’m still a dog, aren’t I? Just not the kind you can call to heel.”
“We shall see about that.”
Vimes kisses him in response. It’s a retaliation, a strike. He gets a noise out of Vetinari, that suppressed keen that always makes him want to bury himself inside the man the instant he hears it, and ruts into the space between Vetinari’s thighs. Vetinari is breathing fast. Good.
“Bad dog,” Vetinari rasps.
Oh. Yes.
“Nothing you can do about that,” Vimes says into Vetinari’s neck. He feels more than sees Vetinari struggling, trying to move the clasp of the leash to Vimes’s neck, but Vimes has him good and pinned. It’s an opportunity to slip his hand between the gaps of Vetinari’s robes, trail over the warm skin beneath all that black cloth, and ghost his fingers over Vetinari’s cunt. Savor the wetness there, savor the power of keeping his fingers just lightly pressed against Vetinari’s entrance.
Vimes sucks a biting kiss into Vetinari’s neck, rubs his fingers into that wetness just so. “You want this, don’t you?”
A sharp intake of breath from Vetinari, and: “N- no.” Vetinari is trying (and halfway failing) not to buck his hips into Vimes’s hand. “I want you to obey.”
Ha. Normally it takes so long to draw out the cracks in Vetinari’s voice, or to get him squirming against his will, but something about this… the collar bites into Vimes’s throat, and to him, the leather is a badge.
“I want you,” Vetinari says through his teeth, “to stop being a disobedient fucking mutt-”
Vimes buries his fingers inside of Vetinari. Vetinari can’t help the “Ah, fuck,” that escapes him, nor the small, half-suppressed moans he suffers when Vimes moves his fingers just the way Vetinari likes. Vimes loves the way his fingers can bring Vetinari to wordlessness, how he can string Vetinari up like a puppet with one hand. His other hand stays pressed against Vetinari’s wrist, keeping the leash at bay.
“No, fuck,” Vetinari is saying, “bad dog-” Vimes fingers him faster in response. He must be too busy paying attention to Vetinari’s moans - to his fast, sharp breaths, to his warm and pliant body - to stop Vetinari’s sleight of hand. Within the span of half a second, Vetinari manages to get the leash clasped onto Vimes’s collar.
“What the fuck,” says Vimes. His mouth is on Vetinari’s collarbone, where he has pulled away some black fabric to expose the skin.
Vetinari tugs on the leash. “Heel.”
Vimes’s whole body jolts. The leash goes taut and the collar pulls hard against his throat, and he falls onto Vetinari. He’s forced to pull his fingers out of the man as his weight presses downward; he says, “Sir, your leg,” but Vetinari says, “Shut up, Vimes.”
For a moment they both lay panting in the balance of their situation: Vimes held down by the tightening of the leash, Vetinari held down by Vimes.
“Mmf,” says Vimes.
“Quite so,” says Vetinari. A hint of a smile graces his mouth in the darkness. It is an evil thing. “Will you be good now?”
Vetinari allows enough slack into the leash for Vimes to fully lift up his head and sneer in Vetinari’s face. “Who do you think is in charge here, sir?”
“Why, I don’t believe there is a clear answer to that question, Commander, especially given your final choice of word.”
“I’m the one pinning you down.”
“I am not so adhered to tradition that I believe the man on top is in charge by default. Besides, I am holding your leash.”
Vetinari tugs on the leash again. Vimes can’t help groaning this time when the leather bites against his neck, and Vetinari laughs at him, the bastard, a beautiful, soft, derisive laugh. Why does he have to make this so godsdamned difficult?
“Fuck you,” Vimes grunts. “Just-”
Despite the complicated assessment of the situation happening in the back of Vimes’s brain, one thought remains clear to him: appeal. “Alright,” he says, defeated, “I’ll be good.”
“Will you,” says Vetinari with one dubious eyebrow raised.
Their faces are so close together, their mouths nearly touching. “Please,” says Vimes, “please let me, sir.”
Vetinari smiles and leans upward to kiss him. “What a pathetic sort of dog,” he says with Vimes’s spit on his lips, “to let me command him again so easily.”
Vimes groans. “Sit,” Vetinari says, and without true conscious thought Vimes lifts himself up to kneel. He’s straddling Vetinari, his whole body bared.
Vetinari jangles the leash in his hand. “If I let this go, you’ll stay right there,” he says.
“Yes. Sir.”
“Stay, Vimes.”
“I will.”
Vetinari lets go of the leash. Vimes stays up on his knees, the pleasure of false obedience rushing hot in his blood. He’s good at this: making himself be good, submitting himself to Vetinari, becoming a weapon in Havelock’s hand. He can stay, he can stay. Vetinari slips out from beneath Vimes and stands beside the bed. He begins to remove his clothes, an arduous process - first the outer robe, then the waistcoat, pants, shirt… Vimes patiently watches Vetinari undo buttons, and buttons, and buttons… at the end it’s only an expanse of bare, scarred skin and a few leather knife holsters. The holsters cling tight to Vetinari’s skin, and he makes their removal a more sensual process even than that slow unwinding of buttons and laces - glints of silver in the night, leather tight against skin. Vimes watches. Then Vetinari is fully unclothed, and Vimes can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. Always, Havelock is a revelation.
“You may touch yourself,” Vetinari says.
As if I need your permission. But Vimes does touch himself. He watches, one hand slowly pumping his cock, as Vetinari sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Vimes with a hybrid between sneer and devouring hunger. Vimes keeps his speed very controlled. It feels so good to touch himself while Vetinari watches. Yet - I can be good right now. I love when you call me good, I can’t stand it, it drives me crazy. But that’s not what I am tonight, not at all.
“Such a good boy,” Vetinari drawls, and that’s what does it.
Vetinari is not holding the leash anymore. He’s vulnerable, unexpectant, with that unbearably arrogant demeanor that begs Vimes to pin him down, to get him on his stomach, to grind his cock hungrily against Vetinari’s ass and slide it along the wetness of his cunt. Vetinari is so caught up in victory that he doesn’t see it coming. You think I’m so easily baited. I’ve been around just as long as you.
“Fuck, Vimes,” Vetinari hisses into the sheets, “you can’t contain yourself for five minutes tonight-”
“I said you’re not fucking getting a leash on me.” Vimes bites Vetinari’s shoulder; Vetinari cries out. When Vimes pulls away, there is a dark, mouth-shaped mark in the skin. He lays his full weight down on Vetinari’s body, slowly rutting against Vetinari’s cunt, just enough to tease - “Gods, all I want is to fuck you-”
“No.” Vetinari struggles again, gives Vimes the glorious satisfaction of knowing he can keep Vetinari down - Vetinari gets his hand on the leash again. He tugs, but this only succeeds in pulling Vimes harder against him, so that Vimes’s teeth are on the back of Vetinari’s neck and his cock is nearly inside the man.
“Going to,” Vimes huffs with speeding breath. He uses his legs to push Vetinari’s legs gently apart, then uses one hand to line his cock up neatly with Vetinari’s cunt and push himself inside, slow but sure, eliciting a sharp gasp from beneath him. Vetinari is very wet. The knowledge that he’s enjoying this so thoroughly is doing terrible things to Vimes’s brain.
“Good dogs do not,” Vetinari is trying to say with any coherence at all, “go rogue and-” Vimes cuts him off with a sharp thrust. Vetinari is warm and wet inside, and his shoulders yield to Vimes’s hands, and he cries out every time Vimes fucks into him. It is a violent and addictive kind of power. Vimes fucks him slowly at first, allows the twitches in Vetinari’s hips to build in tension and apprehension. Still, Vetinari struggles. “Stop it,” he hisses, “useless mutt-”
Then Vimes begins to fuck him at pace. It’s the stop that does it, the bad dog that keeps falling unbidden from Vetinari’s mouth. He’s always followed the allure of the forbidden, if normally down dark alleyways. Now it makes him pant into the back of Vetinari’s neck, and he is a kind of mutt like this, overtaking his master, fucking and taking from him, set ablaze by his struggles and pleas. Vimes has nothing to say anymore. He grunts into Vetinari’s ear, letting Vetinari hear how well his resistance gets Vimes off.
At last Vetinari manages, “Ah, fuck, Vimes,” which at least compels Vimes to use his words.
“Like it now, do you?”
“It was not - supposed - to go like this-”
“Your fault you’re so easy to antagonize.”
“Ah-”
“I’m going to come inside you.” Vimes leans back and moves his hands to Vetinari’s hips, digging his fingers into the flesh and bone. Now Vetinari pulls on the leash, pulls Vimes harder into him, skin pressed closer against skin. Vetinari is tight around him, and so helpless like this, clenching around his cock; it incenses Vimes, it kills him. He can do whatever he wants. He looks at the marks he’s left on Vetinari’s skin and it’s over shortly after: he needs to come, and he does, to a repeating chorus of “Bad dog, bad dog, bad dog,” with his nails hard on Vetinari’s skin, thrusting hard and erratic and breathing like a runaway. He comes and feels the warmth spilling inside of Vetinari and the push of Vetinari’s hips against his own. He fucks into him until the last twitch of his cock, and he knows Vetinari likes this feeling, the knowledge of being claimed, the physicality of being filled.
The air goes cold. Vimes takes a moment to return to reality. Vetinari is still squirming beneath him, making helpless sounds that Vimes would kill to defend. Vimes pulls out of him and says, “Roll over.”
Vetinari is no longer in a position to deny Vimes anything. He rolls over, mindful of his leg, and spreads his legs without being asked. “Please,” he says, with a mournful tug on Vimes’s leash.
Vimes grins, then buries his face in Vetinari’s cunt.
Vetinari is very quick to come. He’s been fucked and subdued now; it’s only a matter of Vimes’s tongue on his cock and a pair of fingers fucking into him with ruthless precision. Here, Vimes feels every twitch of Vetinari’s cock, every pulse inside his cunt, and responds to each in the most vicious ways he can. With his other hand he pushes Vetinari’s hips down into the mattress - Stay. He craves this taste. He tastes his own come too but seeks out Vetinari most, that familiar sensation - when Vetinari comes, Vimes keeps his pace. Vetinari suppresses every cry, but they’re still broken and full of abandon, and Vimes is going to fuck him through every second of it.
He knows he can get Vetinari to do it again, too.
Vimes keeps going. Vetinari tries to squirm from his grasp, but he has no rebuke left in his body, only short cries of ah, ah - he’s trying to get away and Vimes is relentless with his tongue and hand, until Vetinari twitches and comes again, stuttering in the pain of stimulation and soaking Vimes’s face in wetness. Vimes licks at Vetinari until he’s barely moving anymore, then surfaces for air at long last.
They look at each other, Vimes with his wet stubble, Vetinari with his dreamy, far-gone blankness. Now the dark is too dark and the orange slits of light too bright. Now the room is too quiet and the sounds of the city outside too loud. But something, certainly, has changed.
Vimes sits up fully and unclasps the leash from his neck; it jangles onto the sheets. He stands. His joints crack in ominous ways. “I’ll get rags,” he says, jutting a thumb in the direction of the washroom. “Then I expect I’ll be massaging the hell out of your leg.”
“You certainly will,” Vetinari mumbles.
In the washroom, Vimes tries his best not to make eye contact with the mirror. He returns with warm rags and tends to the fluids and sweat on Vetinari first, then on himself, before tossing them to the floor (this earns him a scowl) and easing himself down to sit next to Vetinari.
“Er,” he says, articulately.
“Will you stay in the palace tonight, Vimes? I have a room for you.”
Vimes is quiet. “Should I?”
“It would be of no consequence,” says Vetinari. “I expect you are tired.”
“Damn right I’m tired. Here, give me your leg, will you?”
“Ah, you first. Come here.” Vimes freezes in confusion until Vetinari gestures at his neck. Right. Vimes bends his head forward for Vetinari’s gentle fingers to undo his collar and set it down on the bed.
“Was it comfortable?” Vetinari asks, as if about the weather.
“Would’ve complained first thing if it wasn’t.”
“I am pleased. I have never tried one on myself, so I was not quite sure about proper material, but my… supplier knew very well what she was doing.”
“She?” Vimes blanches. “My gods, you had bloody Rosie P-!”
“Ah,” Vetinari interrupts with a chiding finger, “ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies.”
“Gods, man!”
“Let us move, Vimes, to the conversation we must have. I will say, this has all been extremely educational.”
“...Yes, very. I mean, obviously I did, but you - liked it? This?”
“Vimes,” says Vetinari, and Vimes gets the outrageous sense that the Patrician is yearning for a cigarette, “that was sensational.”
“Er-” Vimes doesn’t know why he gets embarrassed at the precise moments he does. “Well. Good.”
They are silent for a minute, in which Vetinari rests his bare leg upon Vimes’s lap, and Vimes begins to dig his thumbs into the meat of Vetinari’s thigh. The bullet scar blooms like a bloodied flower on Vetinari’s skin.
“I don’t suppose,” Vimes says into the silence, “that anyone’s doing it like us, sir.”
“Not precisely, no,” Vetinari replies serenely. “Though I must say, officials in power have a strange tendency to engage in-”
“I’m going to stop you right there, I don’t need any more nightmares about politicians I already know too much about.”
“Of course.”
“Anyhow, we can get into the - the bloody nitty-gritty later, but just know that I. Would like to, er. Do that again.”
Vetinari bats his eyelashes. “Do what, exactly? Which aspects do you wish to repeat?”
Vimes is a brave man. “Disobedience,” he says; Vetinari stills. “Being… not exactly your dog. But not not. I really like” - to make you suffer, to defy you, get on your nerves, do what you’ve always done to me, fuck you with no remorse - “turning things around,” he finishes.
Not enough said, never is, but Vetinari smiles at him. “Then we shall do it again,” he says.
They don’t hold each other - never have, really, so far - but Vimes resumes his focus on Vetinari’s leg, and it feels close to normal. To something sustainable. He’s reeling from a bad case of assumption of power. He’s begging for a cigar in the back of his mind, until he remembers the bag he brought.
He’s smoking in bed next to Lord Vetinari, and the night is old, and the night cannot tell him what more will come from this.