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?"
How he manages to roll his eyes while he's got Bashir's hand wrapped around his dick is a mystery that he does not have the answer to, but he does indeed roll his eyes.
"Hedonist," he grumps, and stops kissing Bashir long enough for him to work his hands around to work on getting Bashir's shirt untucked and pants loosened, at least. He wants more skin and intends to have it.
He's also rolling his hips just a little into Bashir's hand, in spite of himself. Because he can't not.
Crais is rolling his eyes because he is overcome with lust. Obviously. Who wouldn't be when confronted with Bashir?
"I feel that I should argue the point, and yet --" Well, he's getting his shirt off and his pants undone while still trying to keep as much contact as possible. It's a true statement, but he feels obliged to debate the point.
"Next time, you should let me use the silicon one. Same feeling of strangeness, but you can move a little easier."
"We can talk toy design and materials, later. At the moment I am preoccupied with getting something much more realistic somewhere else, thank you." He bites Bashir's neck pointedly and then at least makes an attempt to roll them over so he's on top.
But only for the sake of getting Bashir's pants off.
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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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He could pull back and strip, but he's rather busy at the moment with Crais' mouth and a hand on his slick cock.
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"Hedonist," he grumps, and stops kissing Bashir long enough for him to work his hands around to work on getting Bashir's shirt untucked and pants loosened, at least. He wants more skin and intends to have it.
He's also rolling his hips just a little into Bashir's hand, in spite of himself. Because he can't not.
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"I feel that I should argue the point, and yet --" Well, he's getting his shirt off and his pants undone while still trying to keep as much contact as possible. It's a true statement, but he feels obliged to debate the point.
"Next time, you should let me use the silicon one. Same feeling of strangeness, but you can move a little easier."
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But only for the sake of getting Bashir's pants off.