Chapter Text
It has been nearly three months since he brought you home.
You had thought it would be harder to adjust. For the first week or so, if you were not inside him, you were tied up in the same lengths of rope you’d used to restrain him. It was uncomfortable, and your romanticized thoughts of having become a damsel in distress kept by a knight of shining armor didn’t take long to fade. He didn’t talk to you much, and certainly didn’t seem very interested in doing much else besides asserting his authority and making sure you knew you were, at best, a pet to him. Something he owned. Certainly not any kind of partner.
Gradually, however, he relinquished some of that control, mostly because if things remained as they were he would sooner or later have a corpse instead of the prize he’d sought to keep. Like any pet, you need proper maintenance and husbandry to survive, and more than the minimum to thrive and thus remain interesting. Humans do not have the ability to consume a very substantial amount, rest and digest for a few days, and then be set for potentially months like he can; if they don’t eat regular, nutritious meals, they will die of malnutrition. He doesn’t need to drink often and water quality is barely a factor, but humans need ready access to water or else they become dehydrated and die, and the water has to be clean and fresh or else they can get sick and die. Temperature is hardly a bother to him, but humans can’t be too warm or too hot for too long or they die.
As he gradually started to keep all of this in mind, you were somewhat endeared by the fact he really did act just as impulsively as you had with him, and also deeply concerned by the fact he really did act just as impulsively as you had with him. Like a fish watching your owner realize they have to actually clean your tank and do water changes and stuff. Amazing to know he cares, terrifying to know neither of you quite understood what you were getting into with this arrangement until after the fact.
You’re lucky he was and is prideful enough to see letting you die as a form of defeat but logical enough to recognize he wouldn’t be able to live much of a life of his own if he had to spend all his time focused on meeting your needs. You know what you need and where to find it, so you were eventually afforded some freedoms, times when the restraints came away and you were allowed to go out. He was always there to accompany you, of course, ready to take you by the wrist should your trips to purchase necessities risk drifting toward thoughts of escape. You are all his, after all. You would want the same if your roles were reversed, wouldn’t you? There is nothing unusual about keeping a dog on a leash.
It was a bit shocking just how easily he could pass as human in more crowded areas. You thought more people would mean more eyes to notice his empty visage, but it seems nobody ever has the time nor care to scrutinize, and if they do, they know better than to say anything. He knows all the pleasantries to politely nip conversations in the bud, and when his armor draws attention, he knows all the right things to say to turn the focus to his companion who restored it. You quickly grew used to playing along; half because you fear the consequences of choosing not to, half because you are just as intent on keeping his identity a secret. Apart from how discovery would ruin your other interests, if anyone found out you chose to fix him up instead of slaying him, the consequences would be ruinous, even though you genuinely did not know he was the monstrous sort.
So now every few days you do your shopping in his company and return with him to his home.
Your resolve was greatly challenged several weeks ago. He was gone for several hours, leaving you tied up for the first time in a while without offering any explanation of why. You came to understand why he suddenly took such precautions when he returned to you, smelling of death with a telling weight to his steps. Whoever he had caught was already dead, at least, but it was a grim and horrifying reminder of what he really was. You had already known since wearing him that first time, of course, but you hadn’t ever actually seen what his way of life entailed. He held back with you. His tendrils were the only soft part of him with you. And yet, once you realized what was happening, you couldn’t help but think back to something he had said when he first started keeping you.
I’m not due to have a meal for another month at least. Maybe it’ll be you, or maybe it’ll be some other fool.
The most disturbing part was not the undeniable proof that this creature you brought back from the brink really was a man eater, or the way he went about it, or even how he behaved more or less normally around you with some poor soul’s body slowly being processed inside him. It was how quickly you’d moved on. How there was no crushing guilt about technically enabling this, how the smell itself had bothered you more than the source, how easy you found it to be thankful he chose someone else, how you even missed his soft embrace for the days that followed. You felt so comfortable when he’d made up for lost time by wrapping you for several hours straight— after he had finished and cleaned himself up, of course— as if who knows how many others had not perished in the very same position.
Perhaps it is because you know you are going to be treated differently. You know that for as much as he insists he does not care about you, as hard as he tries to pretend this is still about getting revenge on you for your insolence, he has, in reality, grown attached. It wasn’t immediate, and he had tested you several times, leaving you unattended and unrestrained, probably expecting you to run and make yourself fun to hunt down. But you stayed, and waited for him, and at first he was confused at your willingness to stay, then irritated at your refusal to play cat and mouse, then surprised when it settled in that you weren’t going to leave him even if you could try. Now it isn’t a test when he leaves you to your own devices.
Now he has come to trust you, and you have come to trust him.
You are an active participant in your captivity. Where once he had seen fear, he now sees expectation. Desire, even. You find his interior familiar and comforting despite knowing exactly what it is capable of. When he is rough, you practically encourage him, inviting his tendrils to explore you however he wishes. This willingness to be his plaything is something he has grown quite accustomed to, while you have grown used to him treating you as such. Dare say, you actually feel safe with him now; he understands your limits and does not disregard them, and you know he will ensure no harm comes to you so long as he is able. To say nothing of how much you adore the sensation of his body clinging to yours…
Naturally, when you have been left alone and a suit of armor steps through the door who had not been restored by your hands, and whose movements swiftly give him away as inhuman, you do not feel safe. At all. You scream, and the creature swiftly closes the distance between you both, cupping a blackened gauntlet firmly over your mouth before trying to gently hush you as he lowers you to the floor, holding you down with his other arm. It’s obvious by the state of his armor he doesn’t get into struggles often, if at all; you can’t make out a single imperfection on his surface nor his white plume. Despite this, there is a decidedly untrustworthy feel to him.
“Don’t be alarmed, I’m only here to help you…”
His voice was clear and quiet, as if he saw you as a scared animal to soothe, contrasting the force with which he has now pinned you beneath himself. You struggle, and he leans in close, unfazed by your hands uselessly pushing and pulling at his vambrace to uncover your mouth.
“So afraid… He must be so rough with you, isn’t he? I don’t like to be rough if I don’t need to be. Not all of us are monsters, you know. You’ll be well taken care of if you just trust me.”
Though he evidently wants to fashion himself a hero, you know exactly what his true intentions are; you can see the glint of drool just begging to drip from the holes in his bascinet. At the same time, the way he talks suggests he is familiar with the living armor you do trust. Granted, it probably isn’t for any positive reason, if his attempts to make you question how he treats you are any indication. Little does he know it’s become part of the appeal as far as you’re concerned…
“I just want what’s best for you, so how about you come with me nice and quietly before he returns?”
Though muffled, you again try to scream, not expecting to be heard but aiming to make a point. Your captor pauses, then begins to laugh, entertained by your defiance. He is similarly amused by how your eyes widen at the sight of his visor lifting and helm splitting vertically to reveal a maw of jagged teeth, stained yellow from use and framing a long, red tongue, which he proceeds to methodically drag up your neck. The sensation makes you shudder. Your keeper has tasted you many times, but his tendrils are not wet, and he does not salivate like this stranger whose thinly veiled eagerness only distresses you further.
“A stubborn little thing, aren’t you? I suppose we could do things your way, if you want your silence to be permanent. Let me see what I can do…”
The beast forces your head down against the floor, holding you in place so that he might open his jaws wider to size up your neck between his teeth. Your heart races as they gently graze your skin but do not break it, sloppy tongue curiously pressing against your jugular. Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your body screams that you need to struggle or try to jerk away, but you know it would only put you at risk of cutting yourself, if not provoke him to follow through with his unspoken threat. This terrifying position is held for nearly a minute before the living armor pulls away with a hum, finding it adorable how heavily you start to breathe, how strongly your heart pounds, how fearfully you shake beneath him.
He then closes his mouth with a clack, returning to his far, far less threatening appearance. You can hear his tongue moving inside as he calmly savors the remnants of your taste upon it, the holes in his visage concealing the visual but not the sound. The two of you remain like this for a time. It is not unlike how your keeper occasionally teases you, a controlling silence as he keeps you right where he wants you without revealing his intentions, and yet in all the ways that matter it is so very different because this is a stranger, he is not someone you have learned how to read, he is not someone you trust to hold back from harming you. All you can do is wonder and fear what he has in store.
The metal creature finally huffs in your face, breath humid and metallic.
“I’ll ask you again, soft one. Will you come with me quietly, or will you make me do something neither of us really want?”
Slowly, he pulls his gauntlet away from your mouth, moving to caress your cheek instead, most likely convinced of his success in intimidating you into submission. Unfortunately for him, the part of your brain that makes you go quiet when you’re being dominated has been claimed by someone else, so after taking a few seconds to process, you scream at the top of your lungs, completely ruining the vibe and also any hopes of being taken quietly. Far, far more unfortunately for him, though he is swift in muffling you again, this time you were actually heard. This is not obvious until the previously mentioned someone else who can dominate you into silence, who also happens to be the primary resident of the home you are currently in, rushes through the door.
Maybe your brief cry of fear was still loud enough to be heard from a greater distance than you might expect, or maybe he was already nearby. You don’t know, and you don’t want to think about how this would be going if your attacker had actually bothered to shut the door behind himself. The anger in your hopefully savior’s voice, though he does not shout, practically heats up the room, making it especially obvious he isn’t going to let this stand.
“What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?”
Your relief is short-lived when the intruder has the gall to reply instead of cower, no different from when he had spoken to you and not even bothering to turn around.
“… Taking the opportunity for an easy meal, obviously. Come any closer and the human dies here.”
The restored armor… Begrudgingly complies, glancing at the unseen knife at your captor’s side and your very vulnerable neck. You, unfortunately, cannot see his thought process due to his lack of visible eyes, which leaves you with multiple distressing questions. Surely he’s not going to let this stranger hurt you, is he? He wouldn’t give you up that easily, would he? You know he can move remarkably fast when motivated, so why is he just standing there? Does he know who this is? You want to say something, but your mouth is still covered, and the intruder ends up breaking the tense silence first.
“You know, it’s good to see you really are back. I remember when you used to terrorize these parts. Let yourself rot to stand out, hoping you’d be hunted down just for the thrill of the fight. But then it progressed a little too far, didn’t it? You couldn’t stop it from consuming you and disappeared from your old stomping grounds without warning. I thought your hubris finally caught up to you when I heard about it.”
A metal thumb slowly runs over your cheek.
“Then you returned good as new with a human you elect not to feed upon. I assumed maybe you were saving this one for later, but I saw you snatch up someone else instead not long ago. Naturally, one has to wonder if the rust made you weak in other ways…”
A low, guttural growl rises from your keeper’s throat, but he does not try to argue. Others might assume this is an admission of guilt, but you know him better. Words escape him when he is upset, and right now, though he contains his rage well, he is absolutely livid. Perhaps the stranger knows this too and likes to play with fire, or he is unaware of just how badly he will be burned should things not go his way. Foolishly, he continues to fuel it.
“Struck a nerve, did I? Hm. Tell me. Is it a debt you’re repaying? This is a rather unimpressive debtor, if so. I would be happy to take them off your hands and let you get back to your old reckless lifestyle.”
You’re not sure if the monster holding you down has a death wish or is just severely misjudging who he’s dealing with. Either way, the outcome is bound to be the same given how much he has been pushing. Incredibly, the one you love maintains his merely calm but frustrated facade.
“It is no debt, fool. I’m simply teaching this audacious human a lesson for my own entertainment. Call it vengeance if you wish. All that matters is that this human is mine to do with as I please.”
Your real keeper tightly clutches his gauntlets from across the room, and you can see the tension building in his legs. He’s preparing to make a move, thank the stars. Perhaps the one holding you hostage would notice if he’d bother to turn around; evidently he’s still more interested in looking at you as if you were food kept behind glass. He doesn’t register the relief in your eyes, blinded by his own confidence.
“You weren’t interested in toys before. Is it really vengeance, or is there something more?.. Heh, that rhymed.”
The monster yawns, making sure to performatively show off his teeth. You shift uncomfortably, disliking his casual behavior.
“I suppose I should get to the real purpose of my visit. You seem to have forgotten that everyone who matters knows where you live. They know about your pet human, too, and they’re just itching for the chance to sink their blades into the soft underbelly you’ve finally given yourself. Wouldn’t you prefer your old rival be the one to do the honors?”
Ah. That explains a lot. But also very little, especially when the monster you actually trust immediately contests it. Net zero information after all.
“Old rival? Hah! As if I’d ever consider a vulture like you to be my equal in any respect. Hovering around but never engaging anyone stronger than a child by yourself. Never there for an actual fight but always claiming some of the spoils at its conclusion. Even now you try to take what isn’t yours instead of choosing your own prey. I could tolerate a scavenger, but you are no better than a lowly thief.”
He conceals the bloodlust in his voice well, but you can still tell it is there. His self-proclaimed rival, distracted by you and the discussion, doesn’t seem to realize this conversation has only a single possible outcome. You’re just waiting at this point. Little do you know, you will not be waiting much longer.
“Why work harder when it isn’t necessary? You always put so much emphasis on hunting when one can survive just as easily off the backs of those who kill more than they eat, making sure nothing goes to waste. Let’s both be honest with ourselves, if this is an attempt to start over and reinvent yourself, it isn’t going to work as long as you have any attachment to this plaything of yours.”
You close your eyes tightly as he bares his teeth at you again, this time looking ready to follow through.
“Just because I get a meal out of it doesn’t mean I’m not doing you a— !!”
Much like when he had first turned on you, it takes only seconds for the restored armor to close the distance between himself and the cocky invader, grabbing him by the shoulders and effortlessly shoving him against the wall. Unlike when he had turned on you, he does not stop at merely restraining his target. There is no further exchange of words, no opportunity for reason, no attempt to reach a mutually agreed upon conclusion. Your failed attacker, now facing the one he had been thoughtlessly insulting and taunting, suddenly understands just how severely he misjudged the situation. He will not be given a chance to correct his mistake nor make amends. Your rescuer, in turn, does not express any joy at this sudden change of events, doesn’t look excited… It is still just anger which fuels him, and it is anger he proceeds to act on.
First, he rips off the arm which had been holding you down, twisting it away in the manner one pulls a claw from a lobster, before tossing it aside. Then he grabs the fool who dared to touch his prize by the gorget, slamming him down on his back. You don’t see what happens immediately after as you scramble to distance yourself from the ensuing carnage, but you do hear the sound of metal being torn apart accompanied by cries of agony and swiftly interrupted pleas for mercy. Turning around to look reveals the unknown armor has had his visor completely ripped off and the entirety of your guardian’s right arm shoved down his throat in the seconds between you looking away and looking back. The left is now holding him down just as you had been held mere seconds ago.
You watch the restrained suit kick and thrash, his detached arm flailing as he tries to retrieve his weapon with a limb no longer attached to his body, until it finally goes limp. Now you see the knife, but it wouldn’t have done any good. He tries to say something, but the words are unintelligible and may actually just be pained gurgling; even if he spoke clearly you know anything he said would be ignored regardless. Sharp teeth try and fail to bury themselves in polished metal. His sounds of pain intensify, then turn to choking, until with one swift motion a bloody, squirming mass of tentacles is ripped from his cuirass, the monster partially gutted through his broken maw. The viscera still writhes and convulses for a few seconds, its owner weakly trying to back away only to be dragged back by one leg.
Even you dread the words which leave the restored armor, who aggressively lifts the current recipient of his ire into a sitting position.
“You came here because you were hungry, didn’t you? Go on, then. Eat. Take my spoils just like old times.”
For your own sake, you turn away from what comes next. Alas, though you escape being burdened with the visual of watching someone be made to consume their own innards, you can still hear it. He coughs and chokes and heaves, forced to taste and chew and swallow his own flesh and blood as residual acids burn his tongue and mouthfuls of himself come into contact with the wounds formed by their removal. All the while his tormentor sounds calm and collected, if not even playful, as if this were just a game to him. You only turn to look when you hear your assailant fall to the side, indicating the most scarring part is over.
“That’s a good boy. Now I think it’s time you have a nice, long nap to rest and digest.”
The heavily injured suit makes another attempt to speak as the victor of this one-sided struggle stands to loom over him, but all that comes out is a pained wheeze, and his bascinet is promptly crushed beneath one sabaton as if it were merely a tin can. The loser’s metal body twitches for a few seconds, before going deathly still and silent. In the same amount of time it took for the intruder just to get you to stop squirming, he was forced to release you, eviscerated through his mouth, re-viscerated through his mouth, and then finally killed. It was an excessive amount of suffering, and you do not know if it was inflicted on your behalf or just for your keeper’s own satisfaction.
You do your best to focus on the fact the victim was openly intending to kill you and should have known better than to try something like this considering he was apparently familiar with who he was dealing with. While this does succeed in making you feel less bad about his fate, it also makes you come to terms with the fact you could have died, which is equal parts humbling and distressing. You’re only alive due to a sequence of poor decisions by your almost-killer and the brutality of your keeper. You couldn’t do anything on your own. You feel sick but that could also be related to watching someone get disemboweled. Your heart is racing.
Having put down a longstanding pest, the one you restored turns to you, not even bothering to wipe the blood off himself as he lifts you to your feet and scans you for injuries. This actually catches you off guard; you would have expected him to take more time to relish in killing someone who dared to cross him. But no. There isn’t any veneer of cold detachment as he looks you over, upset by the sight of someone else’s saliva on your neck and what it means regarding just how close you were to being hurt or killed. He’s not aggressive as he wipes it away, doesn’t treat the matter like a beast removing another’s mark. He is genuinely concerned for your wellbeing.
You assure him, your voice now somewhat hoarse from your earlier screaming, that you are unharmed; he had his teeth over your neck, but none broke the skin as far as you’re aware. He pauses for a moment, and you wonder if maybe informing him of such a detail wasn’t really necessary. At the same time you do find a sort of guilty pleasure in making him worry about you like this, considering his usual attitude. It’s a semblance of influence at a time when you are feeling quite powerless. As if reading your mind, he promptly returns to acting as if he does not care, but you already know the truth.
“If he had done anything else with you, I would have taken my time punishing him. I would hate for my favorite prize to be marred by someone so weak of character.”
While it is true you sustained no physical injury, you are still shaken from the… Attempted predation and its consequences, for lack of a more elegant descriptor. As one is wont to do in such a circumstance, you lean against the one who saved you for comfort, knowing you probably aren’t going to get much from him beyond maybe a comment about how helpless humans are, or some excuse about how he is a monster and going to him to soothe yourself is a foolish endeavor even if he just killed another to protect you. Indeed, he doesn’t tolerate your behavior for long and steps away to watch you stumble, which you should have expected by now, but you do not sense the usual harshness about him. He seems to look at you not just as a living trophy he keeps for his entertainment, but as someone with value.
Someone precious who was very nearly taken from him by a threat he underestimated and failed to account for.
After a few seconds of silence, he steps before you, placing his gauntlets on your shoulders. The living suit presses down slightly, indicating his desire for you to get on your knees, as you have already become rather accustomed to. This time, however, he gently lifts your chin with one of his gauntlets, tilting your head up so that you must look at him. Not the dead body on the floor, not the drying blood yet to be cleaned… Only his helm, empty as always and yet determined all the same. His voice is somewhat mocking at first, but you hear what must be genuine care under the pointed exterior.
“Do not think I did not see the hesitation in your eyes, that I could not tell what questions you thought of but could not ask. I had assumed I made myself abundantly clear, but it seems you still fail to understand your position. I shall repeat myself: you are mine. Mine alone. Just as I will not allow you to escape my grasp, I will never allow someone else to take you from it.”
You understand this is his way of vowing to protect you. He sees the cherished look in your eyes and quickly endeavors to make sure you don’t misconstrue his intentions as anything more than maintaining complete ownership over a belonging, despite the reality that he truly does see you as something more and he is not going to be able to convince you otherwise. Perhaps he is only trying to convince himself, for you already know he is not the same beast he was when he took you.
“I’m still not your knight in shining armor. I’m your master. As your master, I don’t want you thinking about the fool I put down when I’m right here. On your back, stuffing.”
You love when he calls you that, in part because it usually means impending intimacy. Knowing this, you do as you’re told, laying down so your beloved can straddle you. He begins shifting the pieces of his body around, temporarily removing just enough to allow his cuirass to be opened up, enabling him to pull your chest into his open cavity. Many soft, muscular tendrils wrap around you, while a few pull the breastplate against your back to lightly sandwich you between it and the rest of his body. From there he braces himself with his arms and begins to slowly thrust his codpiece between your legs.
While you do certainly enjoy it, this isn’t your favorite position for him to take with you, even when you aren’t fully clothed. You honestly prefer being inside him above all, but you understand how that takes a tad longer to start and wouldn’t be a good fit for an act of distracting spontaneity like this. Still, you start to get into it, your arousal building as he squeezes your upper half while humping the lower. Knowing him, he’s going to keep going nice and slow, only to stop just shy of taking you over the edge because he likes teasing you, especially if he gets to catch you satisfying yourself later… But he soon does something he has never done before.
He begins to slip tendrils under your clothing and between your legs, something you have been wanting since the first time he held you. The sensation of his soft flesh exploring your nethers makes your breath hitch in your throat and your muscles involuntarily tense. There is no fabric to dull his touch, nor to keep him at bay, and yet even now he holds back just to listen to you whine as he presses his helm to your forehead. He brings them closer, then pulls away to instead push his codpiece against you instead, relishing in your wordless desperation as he toys with your desire, knowing what you want and holding it just out of reach.
“You humans are such needy things, aren’t you? Generous as well, I suppose; I’ve hardly even started and you’re already wet as if I’ve worked for it. Maybe you don’t actually need me to take this any further… What say you?”
One of the appendages runs over a particularly sensitive spot, and you are unable to fully stifle a moan, the tendril coaxing more from you but still not quite satisfying your need. The living armor is deeply amused by your display, squeezing your upper body to render you breathless just to hear what sort of pathetic noise you make when he touches you with a bit more force, releasing as he again slides the tendrils away from where you want them. You squirm beneath him as he repeats this several times, breathing heavily as he continues to tease you, your thoughts only about him, your eyes only on him and filled with longing.
Without even thinking you start bringing your hands toward the area, only for some of the thicker tendrils to coil around your arms and pull them into the cuirass of your bullying lover instead.
“My, my, so impatient… I thought I trained you to be better than this.”
The armor withdraws his touch further, now rubbing your thighs. You so badly want to tell him to stop dancing around your nethers and actually feel them already, but you know this would only encourage him to continue dangling the prospect just out of reach. Unfortunately for you, he enjoys making you wait, taunting you with something new but rarely following through with it the first time just to leave you frustrated. When he does stop teasing, though, it’s always a treat; he’s found out exactly what makes you tick and knows how to get you going without making direct contact, never removing or maneuvering around that fabric barrier.
It’s what makes this so torturous, now that he has finally gone underneath it. He’s holding out on you on purpose. You know he’s not above stopping before you’ve been satisfied for his own sick entertainment, but he knows you know it’s hardly a guarantee and never makes it obvious what he’s actually going to do. The massage feels nice, but you don’t know if he’s going to only let you feel nice or if he’s going to let you experience euphoria. It’s his choice, and this is by design. You can beg and yearn all you want, but he ultimately decides whether to sate you or leave you to get by on furiously touching yourself the next time he’s away.
Who knows when that will be after what transpired earlier…
“It would be rather entertaining to see how long I can keep you on the verge, my prize. Holding your body just like this to savor your longing to my heart’s content. You’re so adorable when you’re left wanting.”
Just when you think he’s going to edge you further for his own amusement, he suddenly gives you exactly what you’ve been wanting this whole time, and the ensuing wave of pleasure is overwhelming. You can’t hold in your moan or your release as his flesh fully embraces yours for the first time, his touch everything you hoped it would be and leaving you stupid with ecstasy. He sees your mouth hanging open as you pant and drool like a dog as just another opportunity, slipping a thicker tendril inside, certain you know what he wants. You do, of course, but it is difficult to focus on sucking him when you’re being rendered all but breathless every time he moves about your privates, making sure you know he is the one who has brought you to these heights of carnal pleasure and only he will take you back down.
The metal monster thrusts harder against you, hollow body clanking a bit as he squeezes your hips between his cuisses, pulling more of you into himself and making you whine, and you can tell he wants you inside him now but you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing for even a moment to change positions, so you wrestle your arms away from him to wrap them around his back and hold him tight because you are his and he is yours and you’re going to make sure he can’t pry you off of him and stuff you inside so easily and oh shit the front door is still open and he’s been fucking you silly in plain view of anyone who happens to walk by this entire damn time.
Maybe he’s sending a message to anyone else who has thought about trying to take you, making sure they know how important you are to him and how motivated he would be to treat them with only the utmost brutality should they try to pull anything, ensuring they know his so-called soft underbelly will be far from unguarded. Maybe it’s yet another way he’s proving his dominance over you, confidently claiming you where prying eyes can witness if they dare whether you want them to or not. Or maybe, like the intruder he disemboweled earlier, he was simply too focused on you to think about shutting it because this area is all but deserted anyways, in part because he lives here.
At this point, you don’t know which possibility is most likely, and you are far too preoccupied with being his favorite toy to actually care all that much.