patientman | ic inbox;

His hand goes completely still and he just stares, for a moment. The same heady blend of apprehension and excitement, heightened with just how impressed he is.

"Wearing the best, then." Low, husky, and very much not an empty compliment. He doesn't do those, which used to count against him.

He keeps his eyes trained on the cage as he kneels, taking a steadying breath as he lowers his hand.

This...this is going to be a very delicate balancing act.

"You deserve it. You must know that --" Bashir's expression softens as he unlocks and opens the cage. He rubs his thumb over all the edges, checking to make sure that they're smooth and there's nowhere to pinch. "It's my honour to give you the best things I can."

"And I know that without you, I'm so much the lesser."

When he looks up, his expression is profoundly vulnerable. A little confused, even after all this time.

"Hardly." His voice is soft, remaining steady even as he starts probing, as his finger sinks inside. "You're the best this city has. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't dream you."

After all that time raging impotently, and then just feeling tired and lonely.

"No, we're the best this city has." He leans forward, just far enough to card his fingers through the Doctor's hair. "Breathe, nice and slow. Once you're ready, and after you've the cage on, we're going to have a quick shower and then go to see a show."

"Maybe dinner after, if you haven't fallen apart by that time. If you're really suffering, I' might get you off in the cloakroom before we go to eat."

His eyes flutter closed at the words, at the touch, and if his breath hitches as the extent of the challenge ahead of him sinks in, well. He's never shrunk from those, not when they were worth his time.

Slowly, carefully, he works another finger inside, rocking against them just hard enough; obviously, he can't afford to work himself up too much.

Then, blindly, he reaches out for the plug.

Bashir skims his hand over the Doctor's side, letting his fingers linger over his hip. Pressing down with his thumb hard enough to leave a bruise, he moves to help/'help' with the plug. Once the Doctor has it in place, he'll tap the base. Just once, to make sure it's properly settled.

Oh, that is deeply unfair. The pain and pressure are enough to have him shuddering, and the tap is almost enough to make him lose his balance entirely.

Almost.

He does open his eyes, glowering upwards as if he actually has an issue with any of that.

"I love that look. The one that says you're half-way to yelling at me." He can't really help himself, he simply has to have another quick kiss.

"Are you ready for the cage now? It might be unpleasant, at first, but better to get it on sooner rather than later. Wouldn't want you to get too hard and then you had to wait, and wait for your prick to go down."

Too quick, if you ask him; in normal circumstances, he might reach out and keep it going. But this is - well, this is a bit different. So for all the heat simmering in his eyes, he only nods.

Then he considers, for a moment, before gingerly leaning backwards and bracing himself on his hands.

Bashir could draw it out, and in other cases he might do so, but there is a measure of punishment and correction here. He's careful as can be; gentle, and without any intent to arouse or tease. Bashir takes his time to warm the cage, to check that every hinge works well without sticking, that the little lock opens and closes with ease.

Once its in place, he offers the Doctor the key. "You can lock it, if you wish."

Once again, he's utterly captivated - not only by the cage itself, but the sheer amount of care that Bashir takes with it. They both know he's had his share of Dominants who weren't anywhere near so considerate, so tender, especially in punishment.

He accepts they key almost reverently, and a smile flickers on his face as it locks.

"Very smooth." What? He also appreciates good craftsmanship.

"I wouldn't settle for anything less. Heavier than the plastic models, but easier to wear in the short-term." Bashir rests his hands on the Doctor's shoulders and looks at him. "Keep the key on you. I have one as well, but it's not only a good idea to have it handy, just in case, but I like the idea of you willingly keeping yourself for me."

"How does it feel, love?"

Still balancing on one hand, he twirls the key though his fingers before palming it and setting his hand back down. Showing off in general is fun; showing off for Bashir, that's another level of satisfaction.

A bit wryly, considering he's pointing out the obvious, "Heavy."

Bashir looks over his body and smiles. He wants to give and take as much as he can from his partner, but it's not fair. "I know that it's cold comfort, but I'm going to suffer something terrible, too."

"I need to shower, but after that, and I'm dressed, we ought to head to the show." He stands, moving into the Doctor's personal space and pointedly crowding him. "Did you want to join me? Let me wash your hair. I can't promise to keep my hands from wandering, but..."

He opens his mouth to argue - this is his punishment, this is his fault - and then the words die in his throat. Bashir is very good at making that happen, it's maddening.

"Yes. Yes, all right." There's still time to make his point.

Bashir kisses the corner of his mouth and then pulls back just far enough to slap his cheek. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but quick enough to smart. "Go get the shower running, I'll join you in there in a minute."

Part way through that task, Bashir is going to briefly press the button on the remote. Just to see what will happen.

You know.

For science.

What happens is a muffled string of curses as he almost slips in the shower.

Bashir is a terrible person and as he steps into the bathroom, he knows he ought to be sorrier than he is. Oh well!

"May I come in?" He's stripped down and left the remote back in the living room.

The Doctor's, who'd just barely caught himself on the shower door, does his level best to give Bashir a dirty look. Most people would probably buy it.

"No you may not." Is he straightening up and pulling the door open? Yes.

"I thought as much." He laughs and steps into the shower, moving to stand behind the Doctor and nuzzle at his neck. "I suppose I could apologize."

He could. He's not going to.

"Pass me the soap?"

He grumbles under his breath even as he arches his neck.

"Fine, fine."

Coincidentally, he has to bend a bit to reach it.

Does he? Well, Bashir is just going to look. Totally looking. Not distracted in the slightest. Ahem. Once he's paying proper attention, he takes up the soap and gets to work. He's going to take his time with this - gentle, kind, and patient. His own scrub-down is less focused, and far more routine.

"Fine?"

As always, he relaxes swiftly beneath Bashir's fingers - or, at least, part of him does. The tension bleeds from his muscles, but remains coiled in the pit of his stomach.

He's leaning against Bashir, putty in his hands, and still says, "Passable."

"I'm so pleased to have met your exacting standards." Standing close, he wraps one arm around the Doctor's middle and leans in to kiss the back of his neck. That kindness is swiftly followed by a bite over the same spot.

"We should get out of the shower before the hot water runs out. I can't imagine that cold metal would be very comfortable." Another kiss, another bite.

"Not many do." Wry teasing that's in fact deadly serious followed by a shuddering gasp; the usual, really.

"Hmm, I'm getting mixed messages here."

ic inbox;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject