It is not easy; but then, it isn't designed to be.
The MT makes the attempt five times or more, precarious wobbling progress until at last he straightens, cautiously, leaning hard against the wall as he comes the rest of the way to standing.
When he pushes free and remains upright under his own power, he totters precariously, attempting to accustom himself to the boots. They look impossible, an artist's rendition painted by a skilled hand who has never seen feet before, but the MT manages, balancing on his toes and a tiny spike.
He takes a step, and then another. He pushes away from the wall. Then his legs wobble and he goes down in a heap.
"My goodness," says Ardyn, into the microphone. "If that's the best you can do, I may as well lock you back up now."
"I'm not done yet," the MT grits out.
He struggles his way back to his feet, all sinuous strength, and this time, he stays in contact with the wall. It takes a portion of his weight as he makes his cautious way. Every step is trembling and uncertain, and Ardyn thinks again of the way the silk must be rubbing against his cock with each inch of progress.
Every now and again, the MT has to pause and bite at his lip before he can go on.
He makes it farther than Ardyn expects, truth be told. He comes to a junction of the hallway, where one corridor leads into another. Then the MT bows his head, and rubs his cheek searchingly along the wall, at the corner.
He means to be rid of the blindfold. He's a determined little thing; Ardyn has to give him that.
Into the microphone, Ardyn says, "I tied it rather tight, you know. You're only wasting time."
"Shut up," says the MT, and rubs harder.
It takes him nearly five minutes to agree under his own power with what Ardyn's told him: he'll need something better than the corner to work the blindfold free, if he hopes to do it without hands.
"There's a lesson in here somewhere," Ardyn muses. "Something about doing as you're told, I'm sure."
The MT hunches his shoulders. He doesn't reply, and instead he soldiers on.
Five minutes stretches to fifteen. The MT's steps are jerky and shivering; he has to stop often to brace himself and simply breathe. He finds first a dead end, and the breathless noise of frustration that escapes him when he realizes he has to turn around is lovely in the way a particularly well-composed ballad is charming to the ears.
Still, the MT's willpower is proving rather remarkable, and that won't do at all. Ardyn intends to win this game, after all.
"Are you holding up? Ardyn asks into the microphone, idly.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill [4/?] Ardyn/Prompto, noncom bdsm, Sexual Incapacitation
Date: 2017-11-04 03:47 pm (UTC)The MT makes the attempt five times or more, precarious wobbling progress until at last he straightens, cautiously, leaning hard against the wall as he comes the rest of the way to standing.
When he pushes free and remains upright under his own power, he totters precariously, attempting to accustom himself to the boots. They look impossible, an artist's rendition painted by a skilled hand who has never seen feet before, but the MT manages, balancing on his toes and a tiny spike.
He takes a step, and then another. He pushes away from the wall. Then his legs wobble and he goes down in a heap.
"My goodness," says Ardyn, into the microphone. "If that's the best you can do, I may as well lock you back up now."
"I'm not done yet," the MT grits out.
He struggles his way back to his feet, all sinuous strength, and this time, he stays in contact with the wall. It takes a portion of his weight as he makes his cautious way. Every step is trembling and uncertain, and Ardyn thinks again of the way the silk must be rubbing against his cock with each inch of progress.
Every now and again, the MT has to pause and bite at his lip before he can go on.
He makes it farther than Ardyn expects, truth be told. He comes to a junction of the hallway, where one corridor leads into another. Then the MT bows his head, and rubs his cheek searchingly along the wall, at the corner.
He means to be rid of the blindfold. He's a determined little thing; Ardyn has to give him that.
Into the microphone, Ardyn says, "I tied it rather tight, you know. You're only wasting time."
"Shut up," says the MT, and rubs harder.
It takes him nearly five minutes to agree under his own power with what Ardyn's told him: he'll need something better than the corner to work the blindfold free, if he hopes to do it without hands.
"There's a lesson in here somewhere," Ardyn muses. "Something about doing as you're told, I'm sure."
The MT hunches his shoulders. He doesn't reply, and instead he soldiers on.
Five minutes stretches to fifteen. The MT's steps are jerky and shivering; he has to stop often to brace himself and simply breathe. He finds first a dead end, and the breathless noise of frustration that escapes him when he realizes he has to turn around is lovely in the way a particularly well-composed ballad is charming to the ears.
Still, the MT's willpower is proving rather remarkable, and that won't do at all. Ardyn intends to win this game, after all.
"Are you holding up? Ardyn asks into the microphone, idly.