"I'll admit my thoughts are sort of general, but I really like your suggestion," he murmurs. His voice a little bit shy, but also a little bit breathless once he mentions collaring him. He likes collars; even if there had been some less-than-safe aspects to the Sex Galleria, it had proven that he liked the weight of them, the way they felt even if it wasn't connected to someone like Rhys or Eliot or Julian--
"And simple is a good place to start anyway." He smiles warm, appreciation clear in his expression as he looks at the other man. "I want this. I want my contract to be like this; power-exchange with someone I trust."
He knows that thought makes Julian uncomfortable, which is one of the reasons he's not asking, even if he's thought about it once in a while. He has a sub, and Fran is honest enough to know he's the opposite of low-maintenance in this sort of regard. Then there's Eliot and Caleb. And it had been one of those strange moments where the second he really thought about the question he knew what he wanted.
"So I want to work out what I want, because I think that was part of the issue the first time. It was too easy for people to tell me it was going to be fine because I didn't know what I was trying to ask for. And I want to do better." There's a definite undertone there of trying to be a better Submissive, even if he doesn't put it in those words. But as much as he hates being a Submissive for LIEs, he enjoys it when it's for people, those he likes, trusts.
"But I'm tactile, and sometimes I get sort of lost when it's just talking- as you've seen, once or twice. So my initial thought was just some way to mix it together? Definitely mostly power-exchange and maybe a bit of guidance. Commands are pretty much always sexual in some capacity for me, and I certainly like when you touch me, but I wasn't thinking that would be... the focus, I guess." He looks up at him, a sweet sort of smile, sipping at his tea as he tries to ignore that hum of anticipation.
Bashir considers what Fran is saying and how he can best be of use to his friend. "Alright, I have a few ideas how we can move forward with this, but in order to get the most of out of it, I want you to feel comfortable with using a safeword. Or the stoplight system."
"If you agree with that, I'd like for you to stand and go to the linen closet in the hall. In the closet, there's a box of toys. It should also have a couple of collars in there." Head tilted to one side as he watches Francis and his reaction. "If you want to move forward, choose one and bring it back here for me to put on you."
"You can take as long as you like, and if you don't want to do this, we can just sit, or talk, or drink tea while I do paperwork."
It's the mention of safewords that hits him and makes things feel a little bit awkward. Fran pauses a moment, quiet as he looks down at his tea. And the thing is, that he absolutely wants what Julian is offering, it flushes his cheekbones a little, puts a shiver in his shoulders. But he's not moving yet, either.
It's when Julian says if you don't want to do this that Francis realizes he's being quiet, and he flushes, looks at the man in a way that's all silent apology.
"I want it. I do, I really do. It's just.. safewords aren't safe for me." He admits it, shy and a little bit awkward as slender fingers shift the way that he holds the mug. "So it's not about not wanting to," he admits a little bit sheepishly, uncertain.
"I was modeling for some of the Galleria exhibits. And there was this one-- a friend of mine happened to be in the crowd. He volunteered before they could pick someone, because he could tell I wasn't okay. But I couldn't. I had a safeword and I never used it because I couldn't tell I was in over my head until he made it better." There's something in how he talks, a soft sort of affection that edges his words.
"So I just- I don't know if I can," he admits softly, shoulders curled in tight as he looks down at his tea. "I mean, I've never liked them. But I always thought it was that they don't make sense." He shakes his head, brushes fingers through his hair and tries to not feel guilty about it.
"For me, I just.. I guess I trust the people I play with to pay attention, and I trust their judgement better than my own. But I also trust that if I say stop, or anything that communicates genuine distress, that will matter, whether or not I remember to say blueberry-tangerine."
As Francis speaks, Bashir stays quiet and still. He's careful to keep his expression gentle and positive until it's his turn to speak.
"Thank you for telling me this." He knows that this is an important moment, and he needs to tread carefully and speak thoughtfully. "Speaking about your boundaries is more important than being able to call out some code word."
Putting his cup down, he reaches out to lay one warm hand on Fran's shoulder. "That you can recognize this about yourself, speak to me about it, and let me know, that's what matters. It's a hard thing to speak about and I'm so pleased and proud that you're comfortable enough to say it to me."
It's not an easy thing to admit to, makes him nervous as he talks about it, but Julian doesn't seem to judge him for it. That was at least part of his fear; that he was too messy, that he wouldn't want him. And there are other people he plays with, but he's still important to him. Friends, as he had said earlier.
He exhales softly, hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until his fingers touch against his shoulder and he starts to relax, ease as he smiles softly as he looks up at him. There's something that flushes his cheeks and warms his skin about the way that he says he's proud, makes him feel like he's done something right, and he does try his best.
"I- trust you," he says, voice soft and warm as he looks at him. "Do you still want me in a collar?" Just saying the word quickens his breath. There haven't been many people that have put him in a collar so far, but he likes the way it makes him feel. The safety and ownership of having something like that wrapped around his throat.
"I do, very much. Go pick one out and come back here." Assuming that Francis does as he's asked, Bashir is going to take the time to tidy up just enough that he'll be able to keep reading and he makes a point to put the softest blanket he owns out on the sofa.
He's not going to do anything overtly sexual this evening, just give Francis some time and space to rest.
There's a smile at that, a certain energy in the way that he moves when Julian tells him to pick out a collar. It takes him a few moments, but when he returns, it's nothing complicated. Just white leather with a ring at the front. He holds it out for Julian in between his hands, a slight tilt of his head. It makes his breath catch, his heart skipping in his chest.
He doesn't know exactly what Julian had in mind, but he's willing to go along either way. It's part of the idea here, after all. Talking and just an edge of something that makes it easier to keep him focused, so that he can breathe. He didn't imagine they were aiming for an actual scene, although he certainly wouldn't say no.
Once Francis has returned and handed over the collar, Bashir gestures for him to sit beside him. "I'm going to put the collar on now and then you are going to get comfortable. Lay down on the sofa with your head in my lap, under the rather heavy but quite soft blanket."
"Once you're settled, I'm going to ask you a question or two, but other than responding to me or asking for what you need, you ought not speak."
Francis does as he's told, sitting down next to Julian, tilting his head just so to make it easier for him to slide the collar around his neck. He nods in silent agreement, and he couldn't explain it, but there's something about being told not to speak. To just be quiet and answer questions if asked, but to just- it's like permission to let the world be a little bit less loud for a while.
He doesn't quite know what the intention here is, but he trusts Julian. Trusts him with his hands on him and when it's words and direction, too. And there's a certain comfort in having the other man set the direction rather than just what Francis had the insight to ask for. So he settles, puts his head in his lap, shifting just to make sure he can hear him.
"You know, I've never put a collar on anyone before." Bashir cards his fingers through Francis' hair, moving down to cradle the back of his head. As leans in to adjust the buckle, his expression is fond and affectionate and he presses a quick kiss to the top of Francis' head.
"Now, I have some reading and work to finish, but I would like you to lay down and rest your head in my lap." Assuming that Francis does as he's told, Bashir will get to work and absently just keep touching his friend as if he's a treasured pet.
Francis just murmurs soft as Julian slides fingers through his hair, easy and pliant as he lets the other man carefully wrap the leather against his neck, fingers tightening the buckle until it sits snug but not tight against his skin. It feels like something, a weight, but he likes it. Different than when Caleb had put him in a collar back at the Galleria, but still nice.
His eyelashes flutter at the press of lips to his hair, and he does as he's told, settling down nicely with his head in his lap. He doesn't talk, just lets himself nuzzle lightly into the way that Julian absently touches him as he does his work. It makes him feel like a pet, which makes him think about Caleb, which inevitably puts a flushed smile on his face.
Once Francis settles down, Bashir lets out a contented sigh and gets to work. He has rather a lot of reading to do, and while he does it, he's happy to just keep petting his friend. Twirling a bit of his hair or trailing his fingers over the warm, soft skin of his neck (and over the collar), it's all simple and pleasant.
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"And simple is a good place to start anyway." He smiles warm, appreciation clear in his expression as he looks at the other man. "I want this. I want my contract to be like this; power-exchange with someone I trust."
He knows that thought makes Julian uncomfortable, which is one of the reasons he's not asking, even if he's thought about it once in a while. He has a sub, and Fran is honest enough to know he's the opposite of low-maintenance in this sort of regard. Then there's Eliot and Caleb. And it had been one of those strange moments where the second he really thought about the question he knew what he wanted.
"So I want to work out what I want, because I think that was part of the issue the first time. It was too easy for people to tell me it was going to be fine because I didn't know what I was trying to ask for. And I want to do better." There's a definite undertone there of trying to be a better Submissive, even if he doesn't put it in those words. But as much as he hates being a Submissive for LIEs, he enjoys it when it's for people, those he likes, trusts.
"But I'm tactile, and sometimes I get sort of lost when it's just talking- as you've seen, once or twice. So my initial thought was just some way to mix it together? Definitely mostly power-exchange and maybe a bit of guidance. Commands are pretty much always sexual in some capacity for me, and I certainly like when you touch me, but I wasn't thinking that would be... the focus, I guess." He looks up at him, a sweet sort of smile, sipping at his tea as he tries to ignore that hum of anticipation.
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"If you agree with that, I'd like for you to stand and go to the linen closet in the hall. In the closet, there's a box of toys. It should also have a couple of collars in there." Head tilted to one side as he watches Francis and his reaction. "If you want to move forward, choose one and bring it back here for me to put on you."
"You can take as long as you like, and if you don't want to do this, we can just sit, or talk, or drink tea while I do paperwork."
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It's when Julian says if you don't want to do this that Francis realizes he's being quiet, and he flushes, looks at the man in a way that's all silent apology.
"I want it. I do, I really do. It's just.. safewords aren't safe for me." He admits it, shy and a little bit awkward as slender fingers shift the way that he holds the mug. "So it's not about not wanting to," he admits a little bit sheepishly, uncertain.
"I was modeling for some of the Galleria exhibits. And there was this one-- a friend of mine happened to be in the crowd. He volunteered before they could pick someone, because he could tell I wasn't okay. But I couldn't. I had a safeword and I never used it because I couldn't tell I was in over my head until he made it better." There's something in how he talks, a soft sort of affection that edges his words.
"So I just- I don't know if I can," he admits softly, shoulders curled in tight as he looks down at his tea. "I mean, I've never liked them. But I always thought it was that they don't make sense." He shakes his head, brushes fingers through his hair and tries to not feel guilty about it.
"For me, I just.. I guess I trust the people I play with to pay attention, and I trust their judgement better than my own. But I also trust that if I say stop, or anything that communicates genuine distress, that will matter, whether or not I remember to say blueberry-tangerine."
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"Thank you for telling me this." He knows that this is an important moment, and he needs to tread carefully and speak thoughtfully. "Speaking about your boundaries is more important than being able to call out some code word."
Putting his cup down, he reaches out to lay one warm hand on Fran's shoulder. "That you can recognize this about yourself, speak to me about it, and let me know, that's what matters. It's a hard thing to speak about and I'm so pleased and proud that you're comfortable enough to say it to me."
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He exhales softly, hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until his fingers touch against his shoulder and he starts to relax, ease as he smiles softly as he looks up at him. There's something that flushes his cheeks and warms his skin about the way that he says he's proud, makes him feel like he's done something right, and he does try his best.
"I- trust you," he says, voice soft and warm as he looks at him. "Do you still want me in a collar?" Just saying the word quickens his breath. There haven't been many people that have put him in a collar so far, but he likes the way it makes him feel. The safety and ownership of having something like that wrapped around his throat.
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He's not going to do anything overtly sexual this evening, just give Francis some time and space to rest.
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He doesn't know exactly what Julian had in mind, but he's willing to go along either way. It's part of the idea here, after all. Talking and just an edge of something that makes it easier to keep him focused, so that he can breathe. He didn't imagine they were aiming for an actual scene, although he certainly wouldn't say no.
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"Once you're settled, I'm going to ask you a question or two, but other than responding to me or asking for what you need, you ought not speak."
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He doesn't quite know what the intention here is, but he trusts Julian. Trusts him with his hands on him and when it's words and direction, too. And there's a certain comfort in having the other man set the direction rather than just what Francis had the insight to ask for. So he settles, puts his head in his lap, shifting just to make sure he can hear him.
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"Now, I have some reading and work to finish, but I would like you to lay down and rest your head in my lap." Assuming that Francis does as he's told, Bashir will get to work and absently just keep touching his friend as if he's a treasured pet.
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His eyelashes flutter at the press of lips to his hair, and he does as he's told, settling down nicely with his head in his lap. He doesn't talk, just lets himself nuzzle lightly into the way that Julian absently touches him as he does his work. It makes him feel like a pet, which makes him think about Caleb, which inevitably puts a flushed smile on his face.
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