Date: 2023-12-30 03:56 pm (UTC)
bardische: (ba8)
From: [personal profile] bardische
[ Further shame curls in his stomach that this stranger has to care for him. But it's appreciated, which only makes the shame heavier.

But nothing could prepare him for Olivine's strategy in doing so, his eyes going wide and his mouth parting, a sinking embarrassment at the truth of the words. He' not looking at anyone else, and furthermore, he very much was looking at Olivine.

And it had not even occurred to him, even with the leash, even with the clerk's explanation and Olivine's offer, that the other had been interested before that.

His breath comes as a shallow rasp, too shocked to move but aching at how close Olivine is. He nods once. If...if that's what Olivine wants, he can provide.
]

Alright.

[ The bow, though, makes his stomach twist. He isn't someone who deserves deference, has no desire for power. The shame of that, though, the pressure to keep character, that does do something for him, as horrible as it is. And he has a duty to this man.

Heart pounding, he twists the lead in his hand, pulling (if gently) tighter so that Olivine can feel it.
]

Come [ How does this even work? ] ...servant.

[ He has to very deliberately turn and walk, even if his ears are straining for sound of pain or discomfort, even if he wants to just fall to his own knees and ask what Olivine wishes. He does his best to put his shoulders back, act the confident faceless guard. Olivine is right that eyes will be on the beautiful, leashed prince of a man. He's thankful, even as he wants to protect the other from the degrading, hungry gazes that follow them.

Usually even keeled, something is off, and that anger flares.
] He is mine [ he nearly snarls, and a wave of anticipation and terror washes through him at realizing that is true, until the lead relinquishes them. ]
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Basch fon Ronsenburg

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