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“Down three stairs here, right – now. There you go. You’re quite good at this.” Sir guided Ctirad down the stairs, his arm very warm and his grip pleasantly firm.
“Would you believe practice?”
“At the moment, from you, I’d believe any number of things, my handsome dear. Did Ermenrich know what you are? How good you are?”
“He…” Ctirad considered his answers. “Didn’t really care, sir. He was interested in what he wanted, and that was about as far as it went.”
“A short-sighted man in many ways. Ah, well. Door here, hold on.” The sound of a door being opened was followed by faint traffic noises. Not on the road they were on, then. Ctirad wondered where, exactly, they were. One of Sir’s buildings? One of Ermenrich’s? He didn’t think even his former master would have left him in an abandoned building helpless to wait for his new owner.
Not, at least, if it would cause the deal to fall through.
“All right, we’re going to get into the car. Here we go, mind your head.” Sir’s hand was very firm on the back of Ctirad’s head as he steered him down and into a car. It smelled like leather and cleaner, like it had very recently been detailed.
He scooted over and felt Sir’s leg next to his, and then the door closed firmly. “We’re going home, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The voice was a warm alto. Ctirad could tell almost nothing from it about the speaker, except that they were in front of him, in the driver’s seat, and that there wasn’t glass.
“Now.” He could feel Sir shifting, his knee leaving contact only to brush against Ctirad’s leg again. “We’re not in private, but we’re not in public, either, so what happens for the next half hour is, at least in part, up to you.”
That was new. Ctirad wanted badly to open his eyes, if only to see what sort of body language went with that. “Sir?” had to suffice instead.
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