He snaps his teeth in Bashir's general direction, splays a hand over the book and helpfully pushes it down. "Yes, but I don't want to do it if you are not here. Why would the Doctor be irate?"
"I'll be here." He doesn't snap back, but he tugs at one of Crais' hands until he can set his teeth in the fleshy spot where his thumb meets his palm. It's not a sharp bite, but just a press of teeth.
"And, has he ever been anything other than irate?"
That press of teeth gets a happy reaction, but it turns into an amused laugh at the question. "Occasionally, under very specific circumstance." It's pretty rare though.
Bashir grins, setting the edge of an eyetooth against the softer skin on the inside of his arm. Again, not a bite, per se, but the hint of one. Perhaps the promise of one?
He relaxes back more with the promise of a bite and in doing so presses into Bashir a bit. Presses more into him further to crane his neck up and around to make eye-contact. "And that isn't for lack of encouragement on my end." There's a bit of a smirk there, but in truth even he knows that isn't any of his express business. "Are you going to bite properly or keep teasing?"
"Both." It's not an easy angle, but Bashir turns so that he can bite, through his shirt, just above the elbow on the inner side of Crais' arm. The skin tends to be thinner and more sensitive there so that even through the clothing he ought to be able to feel it.
Thinner skin and a particular kind of intimacy in the place, somehow. Not a common spot, meaning he feels it even a bit more acutely. The fabric still being there adds something, too, though that something may just be Bashir being Bashir.
Basically it's just nice and he likes it.
"And be smug about it, if you're half as smart as you should be." There's some kind of ...pride in there, but it's well buried under snark. "Where are we doing this?"
"Bedroom, I think. I've the kit there. Sterilized the lot at work in the autoclave." A shove? A poke? Go on, Crais, get up and make your way into the bedroom. He'll gather up whatever else they might need along the way.
"There's a few ways we can go about this. Either a short plug, more for show than anything else, or a longer sound which should, in theory, be markedly more intense."
He gets up and goes to the bedroom, but he doesn't do it without grumbling a bit at having to rouse himself from a comfortable position.
"I made a dramatic speech and blew myself up. I feel I would be lying about who I am to go with a show rather than choosing intensity. If I hate it, I'll tell you." Always, directly and immediately.
That said, he's yet to hate any of the sexual things he's tried. Found things he was apathetic about here and there, but not hated.
"Are you meant to be getting off this time at some point or no?"
"Mmm, probably not. I'd rather not be at the mercy of a handful of chemicals, not when this is new for both of us." Bashir knows that Crais will make himself at home in the bedroom - a new space and a bigger bed that he and the Doctor either share or trade turns in.
"Strip and sit with your back against the headboard. Get comfortable." There's a bit of a rattle in the en suite as he thoroughly washes his hands and picks up a kit that jingle jangles. "From what I've read, sitting ought to be the best for this. And not being more than half hard."
"I meant before I went home, not while this was happening. I obviously do not mind not, but I do feel the need to point that that I've seen you after an orgasm and that I'm not a complete idiot."
He's taking his pants - and socks - off while this is happening and really he should work on the half hard thing but he's distracted from his dick by being a bit of one.
"I'd really rather you didn't give a long speech and blow yourself up during this." He brings the kit over to the bed and sits facing Crais and smiles while he's being a miserable little shit. "The Doctor and I worked rather hard on renovation and I'm not ready to repaint."
What? Was that not what he was talking about?
Unzipping the kit, Bashir pulls out a bottle of lube and a sealed and sterile collection of sounds.
"Keep talking like that and I will paint the speech on your walls...." Meaning that they'd still have to paint, but at least there would still be walls standing.
He should be nervous, or feeling vulnerable or something, but he just isn't. He's just curious and largely comfortable. Maybe in a minute. If snark stops likely.
"You're welcome to write whatever you want over the whiteboards in the other room, but if you erase what I'm working on, I'll sulk and feed you beer and brussell sprouts."
Bashir uncaps the lube and hands the bottle over to Crais. "I'd like you to slick up your cock. Pay attention to the head."
Half hard is fine, but no more than that. At least, not at first.
"You might like root beer though. It's a soft drink that's served cold and it's not quite vanilla or minty, but it's sweet." Once he's satisfied with the amount of lube, Bashir holds up a slender, metal rod with a gentle curve. "I think metal is best because it tends to work more smoothly than silicone. What ought to happen is that either you or I can begin the process and the weight of the sound ought to just help it slide into place."
"If you've discomfort, more lube. If you've real discomfort, stop and I will carefully remove it."
"I appreciate the warning and information, as always, but in this case once you've given it I would really rather you 'introduce' the thing, let gravity work and keep talking to me about soft drinks - or anything else."
Does he sound pissy? Yeah, a little. It's a tension thing. For some reason he is now having a really hard time with the... switch back and forth between clinical and not. Might be the positioning and lack of physical contact, might be general nerves, might be both. At least he's communicating clearly?
Adjusting his position on the bed, Bashir moves closer and rubs a soothing hand over Crais' thigh. He's here, he wants to help, and he wants to be close.
"I think I can manage that." He snags the bottle of slick and coats the sound, making sure to rub it with his hands to warm the metal. Once he's satisfied with the temperature, Julian leans in and holds his cock steady, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the too-sensitive head and smearing around the lube a little more. His hands are steady as he slips the gently rounded tip into his urethra and lets the weight of the metal start to nudge it down and deeper.
It doesn't hurt, but it is uncomfortable - burns - and is incredibly invasive. It makes him feel vulnerable in a way that, for him, usually leads to some shade or variety of anger.
This time, it seems, communication and Bashir not waffling around that has managed to avoid that happening.
There's an uncomfortable grimace when the thing settles in place, but a second or two he focuses on the strangeness of the sensation, the point of contact, and finally the question.
It's actually kind of hot once he's got some direction and a focal point.
"You have not, but if it is carbonated tea I am going to be disappointed."
"It's not. I think you'll like it." Pupils blown wide, Bashir watches Crais and once he's satisfied that it doesn't hurt him, he lets his fingers trails over his cock. A light touch to the head, and then stroking down the thin, soft skin to the base.
"It looks much better on you then it did in me, but I think that perspective might have something to do with it."
"No one. I thought that I ought to try it first, before we did this together." Bashir leans in, moving to kiss whatever bit of Crais is convenient. His own experimentation was a combination of curiosity and being practical.
He must be having some sort of mental alteration here, because the thought of Bashir doing this to himself is hot, yes-
but also the consideration being taken, while absolutely typical of Bashir's general curiosity and caution, makes his throat feel tight for a moment.
He is frustrated by his relative inability to move and Bashir's inability to get to a part of him that he wants kissed more than some random bit of skin. He wants to kiss Bashir.
"I think you're biased against recognizing your own beauty now get that out of me and come here."
Yes, they should kiss. They should kiss rather a lot and with that in mind, Bashir carefully, slowly eases the sound out of his cock, and then climbs Crais. He wants to press as much of his body against the other man, to kiss him and leave little sharp-toothed bites by his knee, his inner arm, the curve of his collarbone.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I want ...hng, I want you."
He flinches and shudders just a bit at the strange slide of the sound coming out, but that reaction is fleeting and it's immediately forgotten in favor of thoroughly, completely, and just a little excessively intensely probably, kissing Bashir.
"Good things we make plans in pencil," he murmurs, against Bashir's jaw. Then sharply nips it. "Willing to take your clothes off to have me?"
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"And, has he ever been anything other than irate?"
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"Once which I've yet to come across."
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Basically it's just nice and he likes it.
"And be smug about it, if you're half as smart as you should be." There's some kind of ...pride in there, but it's well buried under snark. "Where are we doing this?"
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"There's a few ways we can go about this. Either a short plug, more for show than anything else, or a longer sound which should, in theory, be markedly more intense."
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"I made a dramatic speech and blew myself up. I feel I would be lying about who I am to go with a show rather than choosing intensity. If I hate it, I'll tell you." Always, directly and immediately.
That said, he's yet to hate any of the sexual things he's tried. Found things he was apathetic about here and there, but not hated.
"Are you meant to be getting off this time at some point or no?"
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"Strip and sit with your back against the headboard. Get comfortable." There's a bit of a rattle in the en suite as he thoroughly washes his hands and picks up a kit that jingle jangles. "From what I've read, sitting ought to be the best for this. And not being more than half hard."
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He's taking his pants - and socks - off while this is happening and really he should work on the half hard thing but he's distracted from his dick by being a bit of one.
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What? Was that not what he was talking about?
Unzipping the kit, Bashir pulls out a bottle of lube and a sealed and sterile collection of sounds.
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He should be nervous, or feeling vulnerable or something, but he just isn't. He's just curious and largely comfortable. Maybe in a minute. If snark stops likely.
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Bashir uncaps the lube and hands the bottle over to Crais. "I'd like you to slick up your cock. Pay attention to the head."
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He takes the bottle, opens it and pours some into his hand - then does as he's told. Bonus: He gets about half hard doing it.
"And you cannot make me drink beer."
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"You might like root beer though. It's a soft drink that's served cold and it's not quite vanilla or minty, but it's sweet." Once he's satisfied with the amount of lube, Bashir holds up a slender, metal rod with a gentle curve. "I think metal is best because it tends to work more smoothly than silicone. What ought to happen is that either you or I can begin the process and the weight of the sound ought to just help it slide into place."
"If you've discomfort, more lube. If you've real discomfort, stop and I will carefully remove it."
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Does he sound pissy? Yeah, a little. It's a tension thing. For some reason he is now having a really hard time with the... switch back and forth between clinical and not. Might be the positioning and lack of physical contact, might be general nerves, might be both. At least he's communicating clearly?
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"I think I can manage that." He snags the bottle of slick and coats the sound, making sure to rub it with his hands to warm the metal. Once he's satisfied with the temperature, Julian leans in and holds his cock steady, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the too-sensitive head and smearing around the lube a little more. His hands are steady as he slips the gently rounded tip into his urethra and lets the weight of the metal start to nudge it down and deeper.
"I can't recall, have you had bubble tea yet?"
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This time, it seems, communication and Bashir not waffling around that has managed to avoid that happening.
There's an uncomfortable grimace when the thing settles in place, but a second or two he focuses on the strangeness of the sensation, the point of contact, and finally the question.
It's actually kind of hot once he's got some direction and a focal point.
"You have not, but if it is carbonated tea I am going to be disappointed."
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"It looks much better on you then it did in me, but I think that perspective might have something to do with it."
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"Who did this with you?"
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but also the consideration being taken, while absolutely typical of Bashir's general curiosity and caution, makes his throat feel tight for a moment.
He is frustrated by his relative inability to move and Bashir's inability to get to a part of him that he wants kissed more than some random bit of skin. He wants to kiss Bashir.
"I think you're biased against recognizing your own beauty now get that out of me and come here."
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"I don't know what you're talking about, but I want ...hng, I want you."
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"Good things we make plans in pencil," he murmurs, against Bashir's jaw. Then sharply nips it. "Willing to take your clothes off to have me?"
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