[There is bright hot promise in those words, in the pressure of fingers against the fabric of his clothes, and already he's thinking about how much better they would feel pressed to bare flesh, nails scraping sharp over skin--
--but the lift comes to a halt, Thistle unwinds himself from him, and with equal reluctance the doctor lets his arms fall loose at his sides, makes a soft low sound caught somewhere between complaint and anticipation. Long fingers fold against the smaller hand laced with his, and he steps out of the lift just a short pace behind him, into the glittering city of the Up.
He'd seen it on the tour, of course, but the contrast with the part of the city to which he has been relegated is still a startling thing, and startling even outside of that, with buildings here that would easily dwarf the palace at Vesuvia, cast high against the cold winter sky.
But these are things he only pays marginal attention to, for the moment. Mind caught up in other things.]
So then, how far is your new abode from here?
[A good submissive, perhaps, but a little impatient.]
no subject
--but the lift comes to a halt, Thistle unwinds himself from him, and with equal reluctance the doctor lets his arms fall loose at his sides, makes a soft low sound caught somewhere between complaint and anticipation. Long fingers fold against the smaller hand laced with his, and he steps out of the lift just a short pace behind him, into the glittering city of the Up.
He'd seen it on the tour, of course, but the contrast with the part of the city to which he has been relegated is still a startling thing, and startling even outside of that, with buildings here that would easily dwarf the palace at Vesuvia, cast high against the cold winter sky.
But these are things he only pays marginal attention to, for the moment. Mind caught up in other things.]
So then, how far is your new abode from here?
[A good submissive, perhaps, but a little impatient.]