Soft, yes, but more complicated for that instead of less. It's all he can do not to let it show on his face even if he can't help how he presses perhaps just a little harder than he meant, a little more desperately. It can be read as eagerness, he hopes. Anticipation.
Chris pulls back and softly touches his face with his knuckles. It's grounding and Hawke's eyes focus their stormy blue on green and finds some semblance of peace there already.
"We're meant to get me from my head." He rumbles, taking a shallow breath and exhaling slowly. "Bind me so I have no choice but to be still and know that's all I'm meant to be for awhile."
He fixes his gaze on a point past Chris' head for a moment, unfocused again as he thinks over his safe word. Sloth seems too much right now, with the weight of his inaction baring down. The word has more meaning than he wants, but that's the point isn't it? It would certainly bring him out of anything else. "My safeword is sloth."
He swallows, looking down and trying not to lean into that hand on his jaw. He's not sure he's relieved or bereft for Chris moving it to gesture to the bag, but if he hadn't Hawke may have said something he'd regret. He takes another breath, flashing a smile and trying instead to focus on what they're doing, the point of it, and not how it may make him ache. What he has no thought for is feeling safe because it's not a feeling here. It's knowledge, an immutable fact in this moment that Chris knows what he's doing and the only wrong Hawke can commit is not to follow directions. Simple. Easy. Chris, at least, will not hurt him. Hawke does enough of that all on his own.
Retrieving the collar is its own sort of satisfaction. A small task to perform, and so he goes to rummage in the bag, head already feeling a bit clearer for his fingers wrapping around the leather band. He returns to give it to Chris, holding the strip with two hands almost as a knight presenting a prize to his lord, though he doesn't kneel just yet.
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Chris pulls back and softly touches his face with his knuckles. It's grounding and Hawke's eyes focus their stormy blue on green and finds some semblance of peace there already.
"We're meant to get me from my head." He rumbles, taking a shallow breath and exhaling slowly. "Bind me so I have no choice but to be still and know that's all I'm meant to be for awhile."
He fixes his gaze on a point past Chris' head for a moment, unfocused again as he thinks over his safe word. Sloth seems too much right now, with the weight of his inaction baring down. The word has more meaning than he wants, but that's the point isn't it? It would certainly bring him out of anything else. "My safeword is sloth."
He swallows, looking down and trying not to lean into that hand on his jaw. He's not sure he's relieved or bereft for Chris moving it to gesture to the bag, but if he hadn't Hawke may have said something he'd regret. He takes another breath, flashing a smile and trying instead to focus on what they're doing, the point of it, and not how it may make him ache. What he has no thought for is feeling safe because it's not a feeling here. It's knowledge, an immutable fact in this moment that Chris knows what he's doing and the only wrong Hawke can commit is not to follow directions. Simple. Easy. Chris, at least, will not hurt him. Hawke does enough of that all on his own.
Retrieving the collar is its own sort of satisfaction. A small task to perform, and so he goes to rummage in the bag, head already feeling a bit clearer for his fingers wrapping around the leather band. He returns to give it to Chris, holding the strip with two hands almost as a knight presenting a prize to his lord, though he doesn't kneel just yet.