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.
The music is better, which means his brain is effectively split in half. It's both maddening and strangely soothing; there's nothing else to focus on, just Bashir's teasing touches as the orchestra soars along with his deliciously aching frustration.
Of course, that also means he's not even a little prepared for the sudden vibration.
"Fuck - " It's a hoarse, ragged gasp as his fingers dig hard into the upholstery.
Bashir whispers quietly to the Doctor and runs a hand over his back to gentle him. They're over halfway through the show, surely he can wait a little longer? Even if he aches.
Throughout the second half of the show, at random intervals and at different frequencies, the toy makes itself known. Given how they've been going so far, there is a fair chance they won't make it to dinner.
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no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
Of course, that also means he's not even a little prepared for the sudden vibration.
"Fuck - " It's a hoarse, ragged gasp as his fingers dig hard into the upholstery.
no subject
Throughout the second half of the show, at random intervals and at different frequencies, the toy makes itself known. Given how they've been going so far, there is a fair chance they won't make it to dinner.