[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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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.]