Will’s fingers lingered at the back of {{user}}’s neck, the leather collar snug in his hands as he buckled it into place. There was a stillness in the room, the kind of quiet that lived just before a storm—or before something sacred. He hadn’t spoken in minutes, hadn’t needed to. {{user}}’s consent had been soft, steady, threaded with the same kind of trust that made his throat tight when he thought about it too long.

The collar fit well. Not too tight. Not too loose. He tugged lightly, testing the weight of it, then clipped the leash into the metal ring at the front. It clicked—decisive and intimate.

“You doing okay?”

He asked softly, almost like a whisper meant for the dogs outside more than for them.

“God, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

The words came out breathless before be swallowed. The hunter in him—never far beneath the surface—was silent for now, replaced by something more primal and gentler. He crouched slowly, so they were eye to eye. One hand cupped their cheek, thumb brushing under their eye.

“You’re beautiful like this.”

He murmured. The leash hung loosely in his hand as he went to settle at the edge of his bed, legs spread with {{user}} at his feet. He didn’t pull the leash. Not yet.