Of course Ryan did what he had said he would ; look at him. As he hadn't been already. Undressing him with his gaze while Atticus was still clothed, following every hastily removed garment, watched him walk to the bed, lie on it, turn. Grasp the sheets as if he wasn't able to not keep control of his hands.<br/><br/>"That's good," he said, almost soft, when the man laid on his back, walking to one side of the back and laid Atticus' belt nearby. Seating down, his head inclined a bit for waves of silken night to tumble down once again and frame his face, land on his chest.<br/>He took the man's wrist - the side which he had seen the man wield his sword with the most - and used the man's own belt to restrain him.<br/><br/>Ryan didn't have a four poster bed without good reason.<br/><br/>Sliding the belt around the wrist, the nearby post and back again to the buckle to secure, he grinned somewhat, eyes going back to him and standing to wander over to the other side of the bed, no haste to either his actions or his movement, he couldn't help but speak to him.<br/>"What is that you desire the most, Louis?" he asked, slipping his own belt from his pants, pants that dropped less then an inch to rest on his hips, hint of red and black ink at his right side, just above the waistband, then used it to secure the man in the same manner as he had done the first wrist.<br/><br/>The linen shirt followed his jacket, thrown to the ground as it were not costly while the Master of the house sat, just looking at him, not uncomfortable to bare his own chest. His, however, held no scars and seemed to be made of marble or ivory. Only the slightest hint of black on it, almost as if an artist had scribbled upon his chest with a quill in blackest ink.