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[patientman]

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[patientman]

"Your Peacekeepers sound very Cardassian." There's no judgement, only recognition of what is and was. "I don't know about Sebaceans, but humans are pack animals."

It's not the clearest way to express what he's thinking, but he hopes the meaning carries through.

[notleavingquietly]

"I'm still not clear on what a Cardassian is." He is also not particularly concerned about that. "Sebaceans are never alone - and I do mean never literally." Why is this the theme? ...Because it is the problem. Probably the problem.

[patientman]

"A single Cardassian is a large, bipedal lizard that loves to argue, usually giving me a headache, and is overly fond of secrets, strict government, or both." You see? That's helpful.

"And here you are." Not alone, per se, but the only one of his sort.

[notleavingquietly]

"Unless I want to expend a tremendous amount of energy in understanding or being understood." He gestures toward Julian with his bottle, then takes another drink. "Except you. You're relatively easy." After that he actually puts the bottle down to rub at the back of his neck. "And even then, comparatively...."

[patientman]

Is that the first time he's appreciated being called 'easy'? Probably.

"Here, let me." Bashir puts his glass down and shoves at Crais until he can rub the other man's neck. "If I told you to get a regular massage, would you listen?"

[notleavingquietly]

He twitches, just a little, but he actually really likes the touch because he can't help it. "No. If I told you to grab the interface, pull and throw it against a wall, would you?"

[patientman]

"No, it looks sturdy enough that it might dent the wall and I'd hate to lose my deposit." Arse. He huffs and settles in for a proper neck and shoulder rub.

[notleavingquietly]

"Only if you factor in your strength." He let Bashir go on with the massage for a bit, drank some more fireball and drunkenly considered doing 12 things at once, all of them bad ideas. "I don't know how to care about people." also he really, really wants to yank that interface out and he knows he will regret it but super wants to.

[patientman]

"You seem to do fairly well as far as I've seen." Bashir slows the massage, but keeps his hands on Crais to maintain their connection. "You care for me, even when I'm being difficult."

[notleavingquietly]

"I do not care for you, I have a feeling toward you." ...Look, he was working toward drunk, rapidly, and really drunk at that and that statement made sense in his head. Total sense.

[patientman]

"The feeling is mutual. Or at least a feeling is mutual." He tugs at Crais to lean back against him, get comfortable and let Bashir keep an arm around his waist.

"And, when I have my eventual, impending moment of panic at settling in and not wanting to leave, I expect you to care for me by bringing me more of whatever was in the bottle."

[notleavingquietly]

"You are just going to continue to touch me and be rational and calm no matter what I say, aren't you?" He does lean back, but he doesn't actually--

Okay, no, he wants to. He'd just rather bite something.

[patientman]

"Most likely, yes. If you'd rather something else, I can make the effort to cry or bring on some histrionics, but I can't swear they'll be good enough to pass as genuine."

Bashir hums and just...well, just keeps doing what he's been accused of.

[notleavingquietly]

"How good are at you throwing punches?" he asks, only kind of joking.

At least at some point alcohol will sedate him instead of just disinhibiting him?

[patientman]

"Terrible." He knows a bit in theory, and has practiced enough to get by in a bar fight, but it's not anything he's good at. (Not being instantly good at something irks him.)

"Why? Do you want me to hit you?"

[notleavingquietly]

"No, I want to hit you."

Which... sounds terrible.

"I hit the Doctor by the way. In the face. I have no clear idea why except he was between me and tea."

...Is he doing this on purpose?

Prove it.

[patientman]

"Not when you're drunk." Bashir has no problem with the thought of getting knocked around, but only when they're both fully sober. "And not when I'm drunk, either."

"How do you want to hit me? And is it just the act of hitting or do you want to hurt me?"

[notleavingquietly]

"I don't want to hurt you, I likely don't even actually want to hit you - though I am often tempted to bite you bloody. I want to commit an act of violence and be irrational."

...Bashir, dammit. Stop being successful at calming him down.

[patientman]

"I see. If it's that desperate a need, perhaps we can redirect your impulses towards something less organic." He doesn't bite Crais, but there's a definite gnaw on his shoulder.

"Do you want to take a mug, go down to street level, and find somewhere to break it?"

[notleavingquietly]

"I've bought the mugs here. I am not destroying them and I don't understand why I would need to go down to street level to do it, anyway."

You miserable - Okay the gnawing is nice enough to get a pass.

[patientman]

"Because I like to walk about barefoot and I don't want to risk ceramic shards embedded in anything." Gnaw. A bit of a snuffle, just to get the scent of Crais and Fireball. Not a bad combination.

"Eat a grape." A pause. "Or feed me grapes."

[notleavingquietly]

He rolls his eyes hard, finishes the bottle - yes, all in one go - then sits up enough to grab the plate of grapes and shoves one inelegantly into Bashir's mouth.

"I want my ship back, and why are you responding to me punching the Doctor by not responding?"

[patientman]

Mrpfle. It's a good noise for grapes. He doesn't bite Crais' fingers, but it's a close thing.

"Would it help if I wept at how you've treated my contracted Submissive? Demanded retribution? Had you pilloried in public?" He steals another couple grapes. "I want your ship back as well. I never even met him and, and if I could I would return you to him."

[notleavingquietly]

He has decided he no longer wishes to have a linear conversation - because he is drunk now.

"You would probably hate him. Did you just say you're finally reaching the point of not wanting to go home? Or rather at risk of it?"

[patientman]

"The risk." Bashir huffs and he's going to snag a cushion and rearrange Crais to his liking. Here. Sit. Lean. They can both be comfortable.

"And you can tell me about him."