"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.
"Oh?" Bashir strokes his hand over the Doctor's belly and then up, lightly holding him at the base of his throat where his collar would sit. "You don't say."
It takes him a few seconds to actually process words, after that, but then he does as he's told. (He's half tempted to step into cold water after that just as a counter measure, but he doesn't.)
As he slides the shower door open again, "What are we wearing, exactly?"
"We're going to see a show, it's supposed to be unusual. Avant garde and terribly shocking." In other words, there's not going to be any sex. It's just going to be something beautiful, artistic, and a little strange. Maybe it's like a ballet? Either way, it's not likely to last beyond a couple of performances.
"We ought to dress well. It's always easier to remove a layer than add it later, hmm?" Bashir holds out a soft towel to the Doctor. He'll even dry him off, if that's wanted, but he knows he won't be able to keep to the task at hand if he does.
"And the Cannon Street Hotel for their late sitting, if that suits your worship."
He takes the towel, because contorting himself right now is bit of a challenge and never let it be said that he won't rise to meet those. (Well. Metaphorically.)
Being an extraordinary multi-tasker, he can concentrate on this and giving Bashir his standard "you're fucking hilarious" expression at the same time.
Bashir is fully aware just how hilarious he is (very) and how hilarious he's planning to be (extremely). Getting ready to go out for a show is just that - he doesn't tease any more than usual, doesn't bother with the remote, just gets dressed and fusses a little over the Doctor.
He's perfectly well behaved right up until they've settled in the cab, turned the first corner, and then he discretely presses the button on the remote. The lowest setting and not for long, either.
He suspects, really, that he's being lulled into a false sense of security. That doesn't mean he's entirely prepared. He'd tried to relax as much as he could in the cab, and then -
Well, he does hiss the curse this time instead of shouting it.
"I love the sound of your voice, my dear." The Doctor gets a quick peck of a kiss to his temple and Bashir helpfully rubs a soothing hand along his back. "But I think it might be rude to talk once we get to the performance, hmm?"
"Although, if you want to prevent surprises, you're welcome to use your own remote and turn it on when you like. You can't turn it off yourself, but..." Once can't have everything.
"Enforced self-control, I see what you're doing here." A bit too breathlessly ragged to be properly cranky. (And if he's honest, it's a perfectly justified tactic.)
"It's not Wagner. So you should be spared six hours of yodeling Valkyries." He leans in, presses a kiss to the Doctor's temple and rests a hand on his thigh. "An hour. You'll be fine, I'm sure."
"Well that's good, I'd hate to question your taste." A bit steadier, that time, at least until the light pressure on his thigh steals his breath again. God, he's wound tight as a bowstring.
"An hour. Right. Perfectly doable."
If he happens to be gripping the edge of the seat very hard, well, that doesn't mean anything.
"It is doable, but I expect you to be a wreck by the end of it. We do have two seats booked, but you're welcome to sit on my lap, should you like." He's definitely absently rubbing his thigh.
"And we've a private booth for dinner, so if you've come apart by that point, at least it won't be too public."
"I am, indeed." Bashir squeezes his thigh, the edge of his thumb pressing between muscle groups and onto a nerve. Helpfully, he also presses the remote again.
He leans in to whisper, "You know, Doctor, some people might say that I encourage you to act out by correcting you in this manner, but we both know that I'm nothing but a well-behaved and very, very strict Dominant."
The sound that escapes his mouth is somewhere between a moan and a growl as his head is thrown back and his knuckles turn white against the seat. His thighs are trembling, now, and his breath comes in helpless gasps.
"Picture perfect." He still manages a sardonic tone - it is him, after all - but the way he looks up at Bashir, it's clear there's something desperately sincere underneath.
There's a polite cough from the front of the cab and they've arrived at their destination. Bashir pays and gets out first, holding the door for the Doctor and then leaving his arm around the other man's waist as they walk in.
Bashir settles into a plush, oversized seat and tugs the Doctor into place. He fits just right on his lap, with an arm around him, gently rubbing along his spine.
He might've planned to be somewhat more difficult during the show, but it's genuinely beautiful. Strange dance, surprisingly non-sexual for the City, and beautiful. The only time he 'bothers' the Doctor is during a brief intermission where he insists on playing with the remote a little. Look, there are multiple settings!
"I really should've just programmed one to go at random, so I could watch the show." A pause. "And watch the dancers."
This means the Doctor intercepts him for no actual reason a few times, at least early on. There's a metaphor in there about causing your own suffering.
Even through that, the skill and emotion on display are enough to keep his attention thoroughly hooked, which he wasn't expecting at all. Once his attention became - well, mostly undivided - it was easy to get lost in the sheer graceful rhythm of it.
This, of course, means he was entirely unprepared for the intermission and has to stuff a fist in his mouth to muffle the sounds he makes as his hips jerk uselessly.
"Oh, well, if they were more of a diversion." He's trying to sound properly scathing, but his voice barely has the strength, and he's sure Bashir could tell that his focus was equally diverted.
"I wouldn't say that. I don't care to disparage their art; rather, I fear that I am a poor audience when I'm so easily distracted." Bashir nuzzles at the side of the Doctor's neck, pleased with the sounds he's making.
"Check in with me. Colour code." He wants the Doctor to suffer something terrible, but he doesn't want to actually hurt him. "There's half an hour left of this and the restaurant is practically next door."
"Oh, you're distracted." He huffs it out indignantly, but when he turns his head to meet Bashir's gaze, to answer the question, his expression is nothing but tender. (And if his hips grind backwards slightly, well, that's coincidence.)
"Green." He's certainly suffering, and it's going to get worse, but it's not truly painful. It's not making him panic. (There were times he did, in the early days; it's why he trusts so absolutely that Bashir would stop this in a second if he asked, if he really needed it. Very few people in the city have that sort of trust, and none so deeply.)
With a sharply playful smile, "I wouldn't want to miss the second half."
"I'm always distracted around you." Another soft, sweet kiss that he gasps into as the Doctor wriggles. "And I've heard that the music is better in the second half."
He is planning to keep the Doctor tucked up close on his lap, maybe letting a hand wander, just to smooth down the fabric of his suit. Surely, that's what he's doing.
Just as the lights dim, he flicks the remote once more.
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"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.
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"Hmm, I'm getting mixed messages here."
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Then he swallows hard and mutters, "That's cheating." His neck, his throat, how can he even -
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"Turn off the water. We need to get dressed."
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As he slides the shower door open again, "What are we wearing, exactly?"
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"We ought to dress well. It's always easier to remove a layer than add it later, hmm?" Bashir holds out a soft towel to the Doctor. He'll even dry him off, if that's wanted, but he knows he won't be able to keep to the task at hand if he does.
"And the Cannon Street Hotel for their late sitting, if that suits your worship."
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Being an extraordinary multi-tasker, he can concentrate on this and giving Bashir his standard "you're fucking hilarious" expression at the same time.
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He's perfectly well behaved right up until they've settled in the cab, turned the first corner, and then he discretely presses the button on the remote. The lowest setting and not for long, either.
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Well, he does hiss the curse this time instead of shouting it.
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"Although, if you want to prevent surprises, you're welcome to use your own remote and turn it on when you like. You can't turn it off yourself, but..." Once can't have everything.
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"How long is the show exactly?"
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"An hour. Right. Perfectly doable."
If he happens to be gripping the edge of the seat very hard, well, that doesn't mean anything.
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"And we've a private booth for dinner, so if you've come apart by that point, at least it won't be too public."
Buzz, buzz?
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And then there's that, which has him biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. May as well practice for the silent act.
"You are - " He doesn't even know how to finish that sentence so he just glowers. It's slightly undermined by how red his mouth is.
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He leans in to whisper, "You know, Doctor, some people might say that I encourage you to act out by correcting you in this manner, but we both know that I'm nothing but a well-behaved and very, very strict Dominant."
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"Picture perfect." He still manages a sardonic tone - it is him, after all - but the way he looks up at Bashir, it's clear there's something desperately sincere underneath.
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There's a polite cough from the front of the cab and they've arrived at their destination. Bashir pays and gets out first, holding the door for the Doctor and then leaving his arm around the other man's waist as they walk in.
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As they walk, he tries very hard to gather himself, and his breathing at least evens out by the time they arrive at their seats.
He considers them, for a moment, and then pointedly does not pull away from Bashir to head for his own.
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He might've planned to be somewhat more difficult during the show, but it's genuinely beautiful. Strange dance, surprisingly non-sexual for the City, and beautiful. The only time he 'bothers' the Doctor is during a brief intermission where he insists on playing with the remote a little. Look, there are multiple settings!
"I really should've just programmed one to go at random, so I could watch the show." A pause. "And watch the dancers."
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Even through that, the skill and emotion on display are enough to keep his attention thoroughly hooked, which he wasn't expecting at all. Once his attention became - well, mostly undivided - it was easy to get lost in the sheer graceful rhythm of it.
This, of course, means he was entirely unprepared for the intermission and has to stuff a fist in his mouth to muffle the sounds he makes as his hips jerk uselessly.
"Oh, well, if they were more of a diversion." He's trying to sound properly scathing, but his voice barely has the strength, and he's sure Bashir could tell that his focus was equally diverted.
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"Check in with me. Colour code." He wants the Doctor to suffer something terrible, but he doesn't want to actually hurt him. "There's half an hour left of this and the restaurant is practically next door."
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"Green." He's certainly suffering, and it's going to get worse, but it's not truly painful. It's not making him panic. (There were times he did, in the early days; it's why he trusts so absolutely that Bashir would stop this in a second if he asked, if he really needed it. Very few people in the city have that sort of trust, and none so deeply.)
With a sharply playful smile, "I wouldn't want to miss the second half."
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He is planning to keep the Doctor tucked up close on his lap, maybe letting a hand wander, just to smooth down the fabric of his suit. Surely, that's what he's doing.
Just as the lights dim, he flicks the remote once more.
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