[ No because he has manners!!! While an odd name, he says nothing about it. At this point, what hasn’t he seen? ]
Genya. [ … ] I’ve been here longer than some, shorter than some.
[ Time here is too strange to explain so he doesn’t try; he simply squeezes Sunday’s hand while whisking him away to the private rooms. The one the youth chooses is simply furnished, with only a daybed and lush carpeting that sinks beneath their feet. When the attendant inquires about what sex toys he would like for play, he asks for a comb. The attendant prompts him twice after passing over a handsome wooden comb, explaining they have a variety of dildos and restraints, but Genya shuts the door in the man’s face before he can finish praising the depths of their toy collection.
Genya sits on the edge of the daybed with knees parted, nodding to Sunday. ]
Make yourself comfortable and then sit in front of me.
[ While speaking, Genya carefully unbuttons his cuffs and then folds up crisp white sleeves to the elbow. Large knuckles, scratched and red, crack as he loosen his joints in a causal gesture. Veins cord up the back of his hands and along strong forearms, green hue blurring beneath wheat-gold skin.
Then, he takes up the lacquered wooden comb again, rubbing his thumb over its curved spine. ]
no subject
Genya. [ … ] I’ve been here longer than some, shorter than some.
[ Time here is too strange to explain so he doesn’t try; he simply squeezes Sunday’s hand while whisking him away to the private rooms. The one the youth chooses is simply furnished, with only a daybed and lush carpeting that sinks beneath their feet. When the attendant inquires about what sex toys he would like for play, he asks for a comb. The attendant prompts him twice after passing over a handsome wooden comb, explaining they have a variety of dildos and restraints, but Genya shuts the door in the man’s face before he can finish praising the depths of their toy collection.
Genya sits on the edge of the daybed with knees parted, nodding to Sunday. ]
Make yourself comfortable and then sit in front of me.
[ While speaking, Genya carefully unbuttons his cuffs and then folds up crisp white sleeves to the elbow. Large knuckles, scratched and red, crack as he loosen his joints in a causal gesture. Veins cord up the back of his hands and along strong forearms, green hue blurring beneath wheat-gold skin.
Then, he takes up the lacquered wooden comb again, rubbing his thumb over its curved spine. ]
I’ll brush your hair.