Black Dog

Tristan rolled his deep brown eyes dubiously. He doubted that Garrick would ever be able to stop being so demanding when he painted. It was a part of who he was.

Tristan considered what an outsider would see if someone were to come upon the two of them unexpectedly. It was early October and the woods around Faversham Park were vibrant with a riot of colour. Every shade of gold, orange, red and yellow competed for prevalence in the canopy above them. There was little warmth in the autumn sun, but the light flickered through the trees, turning leaves to glowing jewels all around.

Beneath Tristan's bare—and very cold—feet, a thick carpet of dark green moss skirted the spreading trunk of the ancient oak he was positioned alongside. His long, slim legs were encased in soft, antique brown leather trousers, which sat low enough on his hips that the initials 'G.B.', branded just above the bone, could clearly be seen. He was naked from the waist up, pale skin taut across the toned muscles of his slender frame. His nipples felt tight and hard from the cold, and were aching a little in a way that he thought might be pleasantly relieved by a warm tongue and soft lips.

He shivered, not solely from the cold, and focused on Garrick's dark, tumbling waves and sculpted cheekbones. He was so gorgeous that Tristan could almost forget the wide leather collar Garrick had locked around his neck. Almost, but not quite—it was just too uncomfortable. About three inches wide, it was very stiff, forcing him to keep his head up. The small gold padlock that held it closed rested on his skin, just heavy enough to ensure that he could not ignore its presence. His dark brown, copper-streaked hair stirred in the breeze as he rested his weight against the gnarled bark of the tree and steeled himself for a longer wait.

When they had come out that morning, he'd been wearing a loose, cream cotton shirt that Garrick had chosen for him. Then he'd asked Tristan to unbutton it while he'd paced around looking for the right angle to paint from, and finally he'd said, "It's no good. Take it off. The image will work much better that way."

"Don't try and pretend that this wasn't always your intention, Garrick. I can see right through you," Tristan had objected.

Garrick had just given him an evil grin and held out his hand for the shirt. Tristan had been shivering ever since.

Finally, Garrick put down his brush and straightened up. "Okay. That's enough for today." Tristan waited expectantly as his beautiful boyfriend crunched through the fallen leaves towards him and gathered him into his arms. "If you didn't look so beautiful, I wouldn't get quite so absorbed."

Garrick handed him his shirt and a warm pullover, then turned to pack his kit away.

"So the fact that I've been freezing my butt off for hours is all my fault?" Tristan rolled his eyes, dressed quickly and went to help. "I'm soaking in a hot bath when we get back. I'm frozen."

Garrick twitched one eyebrow slightly. "Is that an invitation?"

"Maybe. Now, can you please unlock this collar? It's bloody uncomfortable."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Does that really need translation? I want you to keep it on for a while. It looks amazing."