( There he goes, coming up with very different scenarios than any that come to mind for Licyn. It's enough to make him chuckle, shaking his head, because he does agree: he's not a person who does well staying still either, doesn't like being fettered at all, would balk at bindings with any he doesn't know are firmly in a realm of lust or can be trusted to it, and those number few. Now him, binding others? More than familiar with it.

Enough people want to surrender their control, trust in the safety of doing so, let down those burdens perceived or actual, and he can grant them that mutual, satisfying release. )

The blindfold, love, is so you need to focus on your other senses. If you're nude already, or if you're being undressed, and all you have is what's said to you, what you hear, and each touch, and the permission to give in, let go, for either.

( He speaks in a low voice, unconcerned if the Doctor had been serious or jesting at this point, because he enjoys the contrasting views and expectations enough to be explicit, to let there be a hint of throatiness in his voice, a seductive promise.

He can lay it all down, expecting no one to pick it up, because it costs him nothing if the answer ever ends up yes instead of no. )

Which is the kind of binding I'm talking about. The ones where you praise them, coax them, let hands and mouths wander, tease with teeth or feathers if you're feeling fancy. The point is surrendering control, safely, and trusting in the pleasure that follows, in allowing it to flow over and through you, to sweep you away until you ache for the release of it, and ache more, and then shudder and shatter and still in the afterglow of its culmination.

( all that consonance, to end with him leaning back on the stairs, languid and relaxed. )

The games I play are all ones about pleasure, love. Body, mind, and spirit.