A moment passes, Etho blinks the eye that he can: the other remains static, half closed in a near permanent squint. The tempo of his tail slows, jitters fast like he's forgotten the tempo of his own body, before slowing again. His winter coat is half grown in, white starting to blanket the thin grey hair like fresh fallen snow on a mountain. It's cute, Doc's not ashamed to admit it. Transitory beauty Etho is, even when his fur is a bit patchy and he's spent a time grumbling about not getting to do this when his nice winter coat had grown in. Cause that would make what they were about to do any different, but Doc gets it: he feels awkward, like he's left the house half dressed. But Doc doesn't look at him any different. "Doc, the rules… do you need a minute, I can untie you if you really want - don't even have to help with this if it's too much." Etho's tail always does that when he is nervous, by the way. One of the first rules they had set about when they agreed was something they both wanted and were keen for was the importance of verbal communication. Even if it is something small. Even if it is Etho's best attempt at a thin veneer of domination lifted from a early 2000's hentai. Verbal communication was key. "Ask me again," he states, a air of comforting coolness in his voice.