Atticus’ eyebrows lifted at Anel’s out of character politeness. He hadn’t had much call to interact with the youth very often, nor with many of the whores really, but he knew enough about them from seeing them interact with others and gossip he overheard to know them enough. Being nice was something he’d never heard Anel being accused of.<br/><br/>The lingering touch told Atticus what was behind the unusual display. He couldn’t hold back a brief grin. It wasn’t usual for whores to seek companionship on their off hours – not in the lower class establishments, anyway, where three of four clients were seen each night. That was a weary way of life, and one Atticus was pleased to have escaped, even if it meant the Lamb In Briars. Fewer clients but harder work. Here at  the Teahouse, however... it was so very relaxed. And why not when one fuck here cost as much as a dozen at The Brazen Bard or The Folded Kerchief?<br/><br/>It was very much easier here. He wondered if they knew how lucky they were.<br/><br/>“As you wish,” the man murmured, not pushing the youth, not trusting the politeness being portrayed. “And I am very well. Sore, but nothing a bath would not mend. Yourself?”<br/><br/>His question was drowned by Master Ryan’s exasperated order. Atticus stiffened and looked towards the man, then bowed slightly. “Yes sir. It was not my intention.”<br/><br/>He set the tray down and propped his sword on a couch before starting to button his shirt, one by one, his fingers slow, caressing each bone disk as he slid it through the appropriate hole. He let his fingers linger and drift, though he didn't oversell it, the sensual action not turning comical. A sly smirk curled on his lips, his gaze fixed on the carpet, enjoying himself. The tone of the music didn’t suit his teasing at all, but it couldn’t be helped. He had been a whore for a very long time, and he knew how to catch and hold a client’s attention, and he knew that if he was still as skilled as he had been a few months ago both Anel and Master Ryan would be thinking about this reverse strip-tease for hours. He rarely tried his eye-catchers on those of the Teahouse, as they were either whores themselves or the Master of the house, both who knew and employed such tricks and should, in theory, be immune to them. For Anel to react, just for a bit of skin made Atticus very pleased. He had started at his collar and finished at crotch-level, hands still for a moment before lifting to his chest and smoothing down the fabric in a slow fluid stroke.<br/><br/>He considered saying something like ‘Better, Sir?’ or some such, maybe even using a ‘do I please you, Master?’ tone but that would be pushing the game too far. Too far indeed. Instead he picked up a cup of tea, cooled almost beyond drinking, and sipped at it while still standing. He was aching to sit down, but he didn’t want to get his sweat of the settees.<br/>