Isn't it what you wanted though? [His tone is mostly playful. Rufus should have considered asking for something else. Honestly, though, Wriothesley's loyalty is a vague concept if the both of them were being honest. What actually entailed in something like that was murky water.
Whatever it meant, there was something that was consistent. If Rufus ever needed a helping hand in anyway, Wriothesley would not leave the man wanting.
And Rufus apparently didn't intend to leave him wanting either. Wriothesley shivers and he opens his mouth to respond before snapping his mouth shut. A half-lidded gaze before he nods in silent affirmation.]
[Ah, so that landed, did it? Interesting — he really does want to just...stop thinking, evidently. And that's something that Rufus will dwell on later, will turn over and over in his head as he contemplates it from all angles, but for right now settling into the helm of control is easy and as natural as breathing.]
You're not as cute without your tail, puppy. I wonder if you're still as obedient without it.
[Just a moment, he'd said, and it didn't have to be anything sexual. Just a means of getting outside of his thoughts, then — yes, all right, Rufus can certainly work with that.]
Let's see how much you remember. Sit.
[He makes a slight, almost imperceptible motion with his hand — evidently, it's habitual for him to give nonverbal commands along with spoken ones, for some reason — and yes, seems to indicate that Wriothesley ought to lower himself down to the ground right there in the midst of the carpet.]
[What Wriothesley probably needed rest. Not sleep. Rest. Just some time to catch his breath and maybe relax and not feel like the weight on his shoulders felt so heavy. And he can maybe get that right now. He's not the Duke or the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide or even Wriothesley.
Hell, right now, he's apparently just some dog taking orders. And he was alright with that.
He doesn't hesitate to obey, getting down to his knees until he's seated in front of Rufus. He looks up at the other and waits for Rufus' next order.]
[There's a different air to this than the last time; it's a subtle change in atmosphere that Rufus isn't oblivious to. But that only makes sense, really, when the last time was about tensions running hot and the fervent burn of desire, and this variation on the theme is meant to be quieter, slower.
It's that thought that guides his decisions of how to move next, of how to exercise the level of control Wriothesley seems to want without injecting an overtly sexual component into it. It's that notion that has him thinking of what he has available around the room, and what he can best make use of with it.
What he decides on, ultimately, is another of those quick hand commands — though he doesn't speak it aloud, this one most likely interprets to stay — and briefly leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom before returning with the soft plush tie from his luxury bathrobe.]
Close your eyes.
[He flicks the squarish end of the cloth against the tip of Wriothesley's nose, letting him feel its sleek caress — and buying a second for him to indicate whether this is out of bounds, if for some reason he doesn't want to be blindfolded.]
[Wriothesley doesn't say anything nor questions Rufus' actions as they leave the room for a moment. He sits there, perfectly still, waiting obediently for the other to return. Despite having a nature that wasn't tamable, Wriothesley knew how to be an obedient dog.
He closes his eyes at Rufus' words and waits. There's a stiffening of his shoulders as Wriothesley seems to be making out what he was feeling and what the implication meant. Eventually, the man lets his shoulders relax, hands settling on his lap.
Relaxed. Accepting. He waits for Rufus to tie it around his eyes.]
[When no reluctance comes, he carefully ties the long, narrow strip of cloth around Wriothesley's head, leaving the knot to sit at the back of his skull while the soft expanse of it fits snug but not tight against his eyes. A little sensory deprivation can go a long way toward enhancing obedience, he muses to himself, reaching to free the ends of Wriothesley's bangs from the trap of the makeshift blindfold and let them return to dangling comfortably instead.]
[The fabric is thick enough that even as he opens his eyes, all he can see is blackness. The strange things about senses is that when you are denied one, your other senses try to make up for it. It makes his mind want to focus on other things. The rustling of fabric or the other man's breathing. Wherever every touch lingers on his body, leaving him warm.
A shuddering breath and he finally nods in response.]
[There's a strange sort of lull that comes over the room, in the moments that follow — it's not just Wriothesley that's been coaxed into the rhythm of this, into the warm drowsy cadence of forgetting about everything else. There's something to the submissiveness and silence that's starting to ensnare Rufus, too, in the tempting allure of a softer sort of dominance, absent the adrenaline rush and jagged edges.
Before he quite realizes it, he's sunk down onto one knee, letting him draw closer to where Wriothesley remains still and crouched on the carpet; it lets him lower his voice, feeding into that remark — yes, it's quieter like this, soft and easy and quiet, and there's something so powerfully compelling about that.]
A good dog can heel without a leash.
[He runs the pad of his thumb over Wriothesley's lower lip, as if to add a tactile element to the moment to help keep him grounded against the risk of drifting off on his thoughts.]
So let's go for a walk.
[It's a healthy-sized apartment, after all, with multiple rooms. Plenty of space to work in a little following.]
[With his sight taken, the only thing he can focus on is the sound of Rufus' voice and the feeling of the man's gentle touch. It's easy for his mind to latch onto it. Rufus speaks softly, like each and every word is just for him. And isn't it? Who else is here but them?
And he finds his body crave those sweet touches. The man's attention. Affection. Real or not. He leans into it, searching for that hand.
If he hadn't asked for this in the first place, he might balk at Rufus' words. Instead though, he obeys the other like a good pet. He crawls on all fours, ears straining to listen for the blond's steps and to follow after them loyally.]
[There's one thing, significantly, that Wriothesley won't overhear as they move through the suite: there's no rattle of a lock or whisper of hinges that might be indicative of the main door opening. This game is about release, not about humiliation; he's not about to be paraded around where others might see, their activities kept safe in the confines of his own four walls.
And there are tells, as he walks, that make it possible to track — but with the carpets being plush as they are, and Rufus in house slippers, it's definitely something that Wriothesley will have to focus on to attend to. He leads him smoothly, methodically, around the living room a few times — as much to throw off his sense of direction as anything else — before guiding him in the direction of the bedroom, making his footfalls a little more pronounced as they get close to the doorway.]
[It’s good of Rufus to know not to let this go passed closed doors. Had Wriothesley felt like his trust of the scene been pushed too far, it would be unlikely that the man would ever put himself in such a situation with Rufus again. He didn’t want to be dragged into the public eye when his mental was in such a precarious spot. He wanted respite.
He’s not quite used to the layout of Rufus’ room, even if he had took in the space carefully. Paranoia and wariness making him want to always be aware of what’s around him. Like this though, it’s easy for him to slowly lose track as he tries to focus on where Rufus is going.
He notes the slight change in how they walk and knows the other must be leading him somewhere specific now. He doesn’t hesitate to follow.]
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no subject
Whatever it meant, there was something that was consistent. If Rufus ever needed a helping hand in anyway, Wriothesley would not leave the man wanting.
And Rufus apparently didn't intend to leave him wanting either. Wriothesley shivers and he opens his mouth to respond before snapping his mouth shut. A half-lidded gaze before he nods in silent affirmation.]
no subject
You're not as cute without your tail, puppy. I wonder if you're still as obedient without it.
[Just a moment, he'd said, and it didn't have to be anything sexual. Just a means of getting outside of his thoughts, then — yes, all right, Rufus can certainly work with that.]
Let's see how much you remember. Sit.
[He makes a slight, almost imperceptible motion with his hand — evidently, it's habitual for him to give nonverbal commands along with spoken ones, for some reason — and yes, seems to indicate that Wriothesley ought to lower himself down to the ground right there in the midst of the carpet.]
no subject
Hell, right now, he's apparently just some dog taking orders. And he was alright with that.
He doesn't hesitate to obey, getting down to his knees until he's seated in front of Rufus. He looks up at the other and waits for Rufus' next order.]
no subject
[There's a different air to this than the last time; it's a subtle change in atmosphere that Rufus isn't oblivious to. But that only makes sense, really, when the last time was about tensions running hot and the fervent burn of desire, and this variation on the theme is meant to be quieter, slower.
It's that thought that guides his decisions of how to move next, of how to exercise the level of control Wriothesley seems to want without injecting an overtly sexual component into it. It's that notion that has him thinking of what he has available around the room, and what he can best make use of with it.
What he decides on, ultimately, is another of those quick hand commands — though he doesn't speak it aloud, this one most likely interprets to stay — and briefly leaves the room in the direction of his bedroom before returning with the soft plush tie from his luxury bathrobe.]
Close your eyes.
[He flicks the squarish end of the cloth against the tip of Wriothesley's nose, letting him feel its sleek caress — and buying a second for him to indicate whether this is out of bounds, if for some reason he doesn't want to be blindfolded.]
no subject
He closes his eyes at Rufus' words and waits. There's a stiffening of his shoulders as Wriothesley seems to be making out what he was feeling and what the implication meant. Eventually, the man lets his shoulders relax, hands settling on his lap.
Relaxed. Accepting. He waits for Rufus to tie it around his eyes.]
no subject
[When no reluctance comes, he carefully ties the long, narrow strip of cloth around Wriothesley's head, leaving the knot to sit at the back of his skull while the soft expanse of it fits snug but not tight against his eyes. A little sensory deprivation can go a long way toward enhancing obedience, he muses to himself, reaching to free the ends of Wriothesley's bangs from the trap of the makeshift blindfold and let them return to dangling comfortably instead.]
It's quieter in the dark, isn't it, puppy?
no subject
A shuddering breath and he finally nods in response.]
no subject
Before he quite realizes it, he's sunk down onto one knee, letting him draw closer to where Wriothesley remains still and crouched on the carpet; it lets him lower his voice, feeding into that remark — yes, it's quieter like this, soft and easy and quiet, and there's something so powerfully compelling about that.]
A good dog can heel without a leash.
[He runs the pad of his thumb over Wriothesley's lower lip, as if to add a tactile element to the moment to help keep him grounded against the risk of drifting off on his thoughts.]
So let's go for a walk.
[It's a healthy-sized apartment, after all, with multiple rooms. Plenty of space to work in a little following.]
no subject
And he finds his body crave those sweet touches. The man's attention. Affection. Real or not. He leans into it, searching for that hand.
If he hadn't asked for this in the first place, he might balk at Rufus' words. Instead though, he obeys the other like a good pet. He crawls on all fours, ears straining to listen for the blond's steps and to follow after them loyally.]
no subject
[There's one thing, significantly, that Wriothesley won't overhear as they move through the suite: there's no rattle of a lock or whisper of hinges that might be indicative of the main door opening. This game is about release, not about humiliation; he's not about to be paraded around where others might see, their activities kept safe in the confines of his own four walls.
And there are tells, as he walks, that make it possible to track — but with the carpets being plush as they are, and Rufus in house slippers, it's definitely something that Wriothesley will have to focus on to attend to. He leads him smoothly, methodically, around the living room a few times — as much to throw off his sense of direction as anything else — before guiding him in the direction of the bedroom, making his footfalls a little more pronounced as they get close to the doorway.]
no subject
He’s not quite used to the layout of Rufus’ room, even if he had took in the space carefully. Paranoia and wariness making him want to always be aware of what’s around him. Like this though, it’s easy for him to slowly lose track as he tries to focus on where Rufus is going.
He notes the slight change in how they walk and knows the other must be leading him somewhere specific now. He doesn’t hesitate to follow.]