My small contribution to @graveformydarling‘s Trophy Husband Fighter canon, unfinished and very rough. But if I didn’t post it now I might never deem it good enough to see the light of day! So here it is Mel, hope it’s okay,,,
For their second wedding anniversary, Tutor gifts Fighter a necklace. He purposefully purchases one that is metal--silver specifically, thin, that can be worn under clothes. But it’s heavy – Tutor wants Fight to notice the weight, wants his husband to never forget he’s wearing it. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to a collar, but Tutor wanted something Fight could show off—sometimes.
Tutor remembered how Fight would look at the necklace he’d gifted Tutor so long ago, with both possessiveness and longing, and had known for a long time the earring Tutor had given him and the rings they had exchanged were not enough, for either of them. He also knew Fight was reserved at best when they weren’t alone, but also how much he wanted to show off the fact he had Tor as his husband. Extravagant gifts to Tor were one of them. So now it was Tor’s turn to be extravagant. It was a fascinating war of interests Tor saw take place sometimes in his husband’s eyes, expressions, demeanor. So the necklace for Fight was a step in the direction Tor felt they both wanted.
Fight never wears it at their shared workplace, only at home, on their dates, or when he’s wearing a suit for work and it’s hidden. Tutor doesn’t usually know when Fighter has that necklace on while they’re both working at the office, but he has a lot of fun guessing by Fight’s demeanor and then finding out if he was right at the end of the work day. He only keeps score to himself for a few weeks, but he knows Fighter knows this is a game they’re both playing.
The first time Tor guesses wrong, he blames the work. It was a ten hour day that turned into thirteen and he’d barely seen Fight after their all-too-brief lunch together. As soon as they had sat down to eat, Fight unbuttoned one button on his shirt and loosened his tie, and Tor’s first impulse was to guess Fight wasn’t wearing it. When their lunch ended, Fight fixed his single loose button, giving Tor’s lips a teasing peck rather than a real kiss (not unlike him), and left Tor to his work. Tor had had so much on his mind as he’d returned to work, he forgot to consider the matter further until he drove home by himself that evening, and it occurred to him he hadn’t seen Fighter once all afternoon.
When he gets home, Fight is cooking a late dinner for him—Tor had texted ahead to tell him he was finally leaving work—and wearing gym shorts, a muscle shirt, and—the necklace.
Tutor comes up behind his husband to hug him around the waist, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, right over the silver metal warmed by Fighter’s skin. Fighter’s hands falter in their work chopping vegetables, and go completely still when Tutor’s kisses move up Fight’s neck to suck Fight’s ‘T’ earring into his mouth and gently nip the soft skin.
“You wore it, didn’t you?” Tor whispers in Fight’s ear, his hands grasping Fight’s hips even harder as he pulls Fight flush against him.
“Hmmm,” is Fight’s only response as he sinks into Tutor’s embrace.
He finally confesses to Fight, after his second glass of wine that night, sitting across from Fight on the couch, that he’d been guessing correctly for weeks now. Fight laughs and tells Tor he can stop guessing when he’ll wear it and just tell him when he wants him to wear the necklace or not.
Tor hooks a finger under the necklace, just above Fight’s collarbone, and pulls Fight closer to him, until their noses are almost touching. Fight’s hands are now braced on either side of him, his breath hitching, but he doesn’t touch Tor. He knows to wait for permission.
“I know why you wear it, P’Fight,” Tor says, watching Fight’s eyes become glassy and soft, staring at Tor’s lips.
“It’s when you miss me more, isn’t it?” Tor asks gently, his gaze drifting down to Fight’s slightly parted lips.
Fight’s eyes glance down, his “Hmm” of response almost too soft.
That’s why he’d worn it today. Fight had barely seen him for almost fourteen hours besides their barely twenty minute lunch. At noon.
Tor’s fingers drifted from Fight’s collarbone up the side of his neck, feather light. Fight’s face moves almost imperceptibly closer, and Tor’s other hand moves to the back of Fight’s neck, fingers carding through his hair.
“I missed you, too,” Tor whispers, pulling Fight forward, closing the space between them.