Chapter Text
The floor is packed, so Liu Sang stands on the mezzanine to do his work. Today, Kan Jian is his cover, warm and smelling sweetly of leather and warmth. He’ll keep guests away from them by sheer force of presence, and make sure he’s not jarred out of the zone. He doesn’t mind being leant on, doesn’t try to make conversation, and he’s probably the best cover that the Wushaju Club has assigned him yet. Liu Sang tucks his nose into the crook of his neck and closes his eyes to listen.
The man at table five... ah, that’s a business deal. Merger, they know about that one. He knocks out a ‘five, merger, December 9th’ and gets an acknowledgment buzzing in his wristband.
Table twelve is getting tense, ‘Support, 12, refills, bouncer.’
Kan Jian makes a soft noise of question against his hair, and Liu Sang shakes his head. It’s fine, they don’t need muscle like him yet. Liu Sang taps out ‘later, maybe’ against his waist, and turns his focus to the next tables. Kan Jian’s arms settle back around him, and he sways them gently to the music; it’s soothing, but also means no one nearby gives them a second glance.
For a while it’s dull. Clear.. Clear... nothing... too drunk to order, ha. He let’s xiao-Bai know about that one, they’ll need kicking out soon, or the floor guys will get it in the neck. Table three is the Boss, and Xiaoge-- Liu Sang flinches and tucks closer to his cover; Kan Jian is good at his job, and cups the back of his neck for stability. Liu Sang tears his focus away from that particular temptation, and finds some choice gossip about a young heir of the Huo family. Wu Xie will want to know all about that.
By the time he gets off shift and Ja Kezi replaces him, he’s tired and his ears ring but he’s also deeply pleased with his work. His handler, the Pangzi, gives him a thumbs up on the way past to the staff doors and slides a box of food along the counter for him. He also almost offers a fist bump but Liu Sang manages to put that off with a mild sneer.
Pangzi’s... fine. Wu-Laoban loves him, but Liu Sang isn’t quite sure yet if the snarling banter he and Liu Sang engage in is entirely friendly. In either direction. And Ouxiang-- Liu Sang snaps his thoughts back around; not thinking about him. Nope.
It’s bad enough plastering himself against the intensely muscular Kan Jian for the length of a shift. Thinking about Xiaoge is just asking for trouble that his uniform is explicitly designed not to hide.
The break room is blessedly, mind numbingly quiet; a large bowl in the middle holds a fountain and the white noise of the water falling soothes over any noises that make it through the gaps in the door. Kan Jian escorts him to the benches and pushes him down with a solid pat to one shoulder; he’s sweet. And quiet. He offers Liu Sang the box of food, and silently settles onto the bench to watch the water, vest stretching over his shoulders and heart languid.
Liu Sang picks at his food, slowly recovering from the listening daze, and eventually starts to taste it; a sure sign that the sensitive period is going.
"Ey, Kan Jian, I'm good; you can go." He points vaguely with his spoon.
Kan Jian sits back and smiles like the fucking sun coming out; he's blinding and too trusting and far too good for the other part of his job. Though he seems to enjoy the violence with the same sweet-hearted physicality as he does the occasional slow dance. "You got it, boss!"
He shoos him with a jerk of his chin, and shovels his food more vigorously into his mouth.
Kan Jian and Wu Xie almost bump into each other at the door, though, and Liu Sang frowns, unwilling to interrupt his dinner to make a report. Wu Xie waves him off and grabs himself a coffee, then sits opposite and raises an eyebrow at him.
"You like to watch, ah?" Liu Sang says between mouthfuls, sharp and grinning just enough to make it banter rather than insolence.
Wu Xie grins wide behind the edge of his coffee mug and raises it a tiny fraction, as though in salute. He does settle the fuck down, though, and stops letting his eyes comb over Liu Sang like he's looking for more secrets in the seams of his shirt.
Liu Sang doesn't make him wait too long; that's why he can get away with eating first. It's a work in progress, but he's absolutely going to train the bosses here into decent habits. The money is worth the effort.
"So, tell me. Xiuxiu?"
Liu Sang launches into his report, outlining the gossip in summary, then going word for word when Wu Xie wants more detail on certain point.
"Hoo, interesting. She'll be glad to know; there's a bonus for you in this one." He leans forwards, elbows on his knees, and smirks. "What do you want?"
Liu Sang sits back a little, straightening his spine. "A square ten, and a shift with the VIPs," he shoots back.
"Done. Choice of clients. But you take Kan Jian as escort."
"Acceptable."
Wu Xie makes a note on his phone, looking pleased with the deal, and then digs a small square of gold out of his breast pocket. Ten thousand yuan worth of gold weighs twenty five grams, and Wu Xie tosses it across the room, underhand.
"You're insane."
Wu Xie cracks into a mischievous grin. "Don't have to pay taxes on gold."
Liu Sang rolls his eyes, and tucks the gold away in his inside jacket pocket. He asked for it for the same reasons Wu Xie deals in it. It’s the throwing it across the room he objects to.
“Ey, why do you want a VIP shift? I’ll match the tips if you want to kick back.”
Liu Sang brushes his uniform into order as he stands, twitching the suit’s crisp creases into their places and adjusting his cuffs to show a perfect half-inch of white below the black sleeves. “I don’t want money, I want a good fuck,” Liu Sang murmurs, low enough to rumble in his throat and showing a flash of teeth.
Wu Xie’s pupils blow wide and his pulse jumps; he sways towards Liu Sang and there is a bare flash of tongue as he wets his lips. Liu Sang stalks towards him, head low and grin gone dark.
“You like that, Wu-Laoban?” he murmurs, once he’s close enough for the words to brush warm air against his cheek. “Shall I consider it a reward from you when I come?”
Wu Xie thumps against the wall, startling himself into a little gasp; Liu Sang presses the advantage by caging him in with a hand on the wall, but he doesn’t touch. Let him be hungry.
“You’ll look after me, won’t you, Laoban?” he purrs. “Watching on your little cameras.”
His lungs stutter rather than let him speak, but Wu Xie nods and plasters a serious face on over his scorching blush.
Liu Sang smiles and steps back, out of his airspace, but touches his lapels to ease him into the distance. They’re artfully mussed, his linen suit fine and delicate and creased by some unknown artist into a rumpled and unthreatening look that, somehow, manages to make Wu-Laoban edible. Liu Sang suspects attempts have been made to make him look less... ravishing, that this soft, academic look is a form of self defence, but it’s a shocking failure. The cream linen bounces clean, warm light onto his alabaster skin, and it’s soft drape hides the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles Liu Sang can feel under his palms. He looks delicate and bruisable, bullyable, but he’s nothing of the sort.
Liu Sang likes that, he loves that. He could set himself loose on this man and he would pull he leash tight long before Liu Sang did any damage.
“Oh you are *good*,” Wu Xie murmurs, relaxing against the wall and shoulders drooping into something thats more predatory than it has any right to be. “I’ll charge em double.”
Liu Sang lets his grin widen a little too far, teeth gleaming and eyes hooded. “Mn, I do love to be valued at work.” He pats Wu Xie on the chest, in appreciation, and finally steps away.
---
There are three ways to get onto the VIP floor. All of them require obscene amounts of money, of course.
The first is charm; if someone who works there wants you there.
Second; beauty, ditto. Wushanju embraces horn in all its facets.
The third and possibly most important is connections. The Wu family business thrives on knowing everything about everyone, it's why Liu Sang has a job, and if you're part of that network, whether or not you get upstairs depends on how many favours you're doing for them.
The first two rules keep the ViP floor full of pleasant company and intelligent conversation, while the third sprinkles dangerous people into the calm waters.
Liu Sang looks for the third kind, leaning at the bar with Kan Jian a subtle distance away. He’s far from the only one working the floor tonight; Lady Cui has the vaguely k-pop looking guys wrapped around her laugh, though only the leader of their little group is likely to be able to afford her attention. Wang Meng has hooked his regular, shocking.
The old bastard has him crowded into the dark shadows of a booth, whimpering. It’s cute, how Wang Meng’s tightly compressed and elegant violence has turned into flustered helplessness. Then he hears: “You’ll pay me a bonus, won’t you, Lao-Yu?” in a sly, breathless voice and rolls his eyes. Wow.
He turns back to the bar and opens his mouth to order, but its damn Pangzi rather than the nameless staff member he was expecting. Liu Sang squints suspiciously at him.
“Ah, that’s a face.”
Liu Sang rolls his eyes again, and takes a seat at the bar anyway. “Speak.”
Pangzi smirks, flipping a towel on to his shoulder and turning the tall glass in his hand right way up. “Got a target Tianzhen think’s you’ll like. If you think you can take it.”
Interest pricks at him enough to make him cock his head and raise an eyebrow.
“Huo Daofu, table C. One of the Family,” Pangzi tells him, shooting crystal ice into the glass; the VIP bar is a level above.
“And you think I’ll be interested why?” He asks, reaching out two long fingers and tapping three times, ‘no alcohol’. Pangzi winks back, and holds up two bottles, one yellow and the other plum-red; Liu Sang picks the plum.
“Hai! One red and sour, coming up!” The bottle spins over and Pangzi catches it just in time to direct the first drops of liquor into the glass, trailing over the ice and staining it crimson. It’d be showing off on anyone else, but Pangzi is effortlessly competent, it’s obnoxious. “He’s a quiet one, rude. You’ll get along great.”
Liu Sang’s hackles rise and his eyes narrow.
“Ey, no, no, slow down, slow down,” Pangzi scolds, hands moving fast over a cocktail shaker and copper measure flashing. “He’s a rope top. Give you a collar if you ask nice.”
Liu Sang feels his teeth show, before he recognises the heat in his chest. “Who’s askin,” he growls through a grin like a challenge.
“Ha! T-t-t-there it is! Fight-o, Sang-Bei’er!” Pangzi cheers, and pours out the rest of the cocktail into the glass, swirling yellow-gold coiling with the ruby red.
Liu Sang smirks wider, and leans over the bar to pick out a steel straw. It takes him into Pangzi’s airspace and the man isn’t *completely* immune; he sways towards Liu Sang with a matching smirk, close enough to murmur in his ear. “I’ll take the Peony room, mn?”
Pangzi blinks four times; going through his mental books, and his face creases along well-worn smile lines. “You you, you, ah, you always know where’s free, don’t you?”
Smug, Liu Sang sits back and tucks his straw into his drink, sending the ice spinning with a flick. Crimson and gold twirl together syrupy-slow. “What could be easier.”
“Ah, and we paid so much for the sound proofing...”
Liu Sang knocks a ‘thanks’ into the bartop, and saunters away with his glass held aloft, letting the music seep into his bones and basking in the muttered admiration he’s leaving behind. His heart thumps harder and he sets his feet a little harder, heel-toe, to the beat. Head up, shoulders lose.
He knows what he looks like. Hears people watching him, every murmur, and *here*, oh... oh it’s delicious. Wu Xie and Pangzi and Ouxiang like behemoths at the back of everyone working the floor, the thrill of fear in the clients when they show their faces-- Liu Sang’s skin tingles with goosebumps. Here, he can let loose.
Huo Daofu is impassive, when Liu Sang spots him. Marble faced and unaffected by the show on stage, or the drink in his hand, Liu Sang wants to crack him open until he snarls. Beautiful, as men go, severe and pristine and contained in a three piece suit in warm grey and buttoned with tortoiseshell. The watch on his wrist is thick, solid steel, with that lush blue tint to the metal that speaks of more money than gold. He checks it, just as Liu Sang begins his approach, and when he looks up from the piece, their eyes catch.
Liu Sang raises an eyebrow, smirking and cocking his head just a little. A question.
Huo Daofu sneers at him, eyes flicking over his body and eyes narrowing; a dare.
---
Liu Sang lets him take his suit jacket off, as courtesy. His shoulders are wide and sharp beneath it, and sleeve garters promise some strength in the biceps beneath the crisp white of his shirt. He starts on his cufflinks, eyes on Liu Sang, and thats enough courtesy.
Liu Sang takes a last draw of his violently red drink and lets the syrup paint his lips long enough to lick it off again; Huo Daofu’s eyes snap to it, and Liu Sang puts his drink down with a *click*.
“You know what you want?” Liu Sang asks, low and studying him through his eyelashes. The distance between them shrinks.
“I do.”
Liu Sang settles his feet, just a little wider than natural, and Huo Daofu notices, raising an eyebrow and tipping his head just enough to look Liu Sang in the eye over top of the frames.
“Want me to be a good little sub?” he murmurs, just barely touching Huo Daofu’s vest front with his fingertips.
“I do.” He twists one side of his mouth, lips still tight and severe.
Liu Sang leans in a little closer, fingers sliding over polished wool and between tortoiseshell buttons to find body heat beneath. “Then *make me*.”
---
It's a solid bet, after what he said in the break room, that Wu Xie hadn't actually been in the witness booth, but Liu Sang makes sure to wave at the friendly black lens of the camera anyway, once he's out of the good doctor's ropes but still truly filthy with sweat and lube. The light blinks once in acknowledgement, and Liu Sang goes back to ignoring it.
"Any aches?" Daofu asks, directly into the red mark that burns across Liu Sang's collarbone.
"Mn, only the good kind," he promises. "Kiss them better?"
A smile, hidden against his skin, and a gentle rain of open-mouthed kisses follows the lines of rope burn. "You were spectacular."
Liu Sang flushes a little, warm all over. "We're a good match," he murmurs back, patting him on the flank. "Ask for me again."
Huo Daofu huffs agreeably into the side of Liu Sang's neck, his breath fanning over cooling sweat and drawing goosebumps to the surface. "I hope you're as expensive as your performance deserves."
Liu Sang laughs, low and delighted. "Tell Wu Xie that, mn? You might get me a raise."
"I'm going to treat these," the doctor tells him, his fingers feeling pleasantly cool against the hot, red welts of the rope marks. "Allergies?"
"None. You don't have to--"
Huo Daofu shakes his head, finally pushing up off Liu Sang's body and swinging his legs off the bed. "I prefer it. Add it to my tab." This is half directed at the camera, which blinks again.
Liu Sang pushes up onto his elbows, hair sticking sweatily to the back of his neck and shoulder joints burning just enough to feel. "Caretaking as a Scene?" He asks, blearily squinting after the doctor.
"Yes. If you'll allow it."
Liu Sang flops back down and works his shoulders. "Sure, sounds nice." He groans, low and satisfied, as he stretches his abused body into new and delightful shapes. He's neck deep in endorphins, and the stretch across his shoulders feels fantastic. "No consent play this time?" He checks. They didn't work this out at the table, after all.
"No, I'll just stop if you--" he waves a hand over his shoulder, vaguely indicating all that. There's a silver case on the table in front of him, and Liu Sang watches his back flex deliciously as he opens it out. Shame he pulled his suit trousers back up, but he's nice to look at anyway, though a little blurry at this distance.
"Mn, I'm in your hands then, doctor."
Hou Daofu mumbles something, possibly meant to be just a comforting sound, but Liu Sang can hear every syllable and suppresses a snort of laughter at the nonsense words. He feels satisfied and worn out, warm all through from a hard night's work doing something he actually likes, and that, as much as the ropes and consent play, is keeping his subspace bubbling along pleasantly.
He could probably shake himself out of it safely enough, he thinks to himself as his ears catch footsteps passing the door, but fuckit. He closes his eyes and deliberately wallows in the feeling instead. He's on camera, he's safe.
The noises coming off Huo Daofu are familiar enough; packets and vials and the soft glugging of hot water from a flask. His heart beat is just audible under the rest, steadier and in the process of coming down to a very respectable 70bpm. He must exercise regularly... Remembering the feel of his thighs between his own, Liu Sang is going to guess he's a runner. Maybe long distance. Mmmm, maybe a night runner. He has that vibe, and he's pale as Wu Xie.
"Still awake?" The footsteps by the side of the bed ask.
Liu Sang makes a vague 'ok' gesture, without otherwise moving.
"Hmph. Kiss?"
Liu Sang turns towards the dent in the bed as Daofu sits down, and lifts his chin. Daofu kisses the corner of his mouth, then his lips, and then softly cups his cheek with hands that smell freshly of herbs and minerals. He hums, pleased, and nuzzles into his palm.
"Might sting a little, mn? Let me know if its too much."
Liu Sang nods into his hand, and is surprisingly disappointed when he pulls away. How dare he. Except water trickles musically back into a basin from some kind of cloth, and when Daofu's hands come back, they're hot and gentle and soothing as they wash away lube and sweat.
It's not the messiest he's been; Daofu didn't ask for bare-back so they're not slathered in come as well, but oh god it feels good to be clean. The cloth is steaming hot, smooth and firm over unmarked skin, then delicately dabbing over the rope burns. It does sting, but he's not entirely tapped out, so the little tingles mutate into something more delicious than pain.
"You fought hard," Daofu murmurs, and the next touch is definitely his lips. A warm ripple of pride and satisfaction turns Liu Sang into a limp puddle.
"I had fun," Liu Sang manages eventually, breathing deep and smelling the same soft herb scent in the steam coming off his body. He’d fought with almost everything he had; Huo Daofu had been just about faster, smarter, stronger, but only barely. He’d not kneed him in the dick, obviously, and he’d had a chance, but he hadn’t had to hold back anything else. His body is still humming with the strain of fighting against the looping ropes and there’s a deep ache in the small of his back, where Huo Daofu had had to kneel on him to get the chest harness in place.
Liu Sang smirks and squirms over onto his side, draping himself across Huo Daofu’s lap and rubbing his cheek on the soft warmth of his suit pants. The good doctor huffs at him, faintly impatient, but wipes the back of his neck with the hot cloth and that feels fantastic. Of course, a chest harness wasn’t enough to actually hold him; he’s got a fantastic set of deep pink marks across his thighs from the double loop of rope that he’d forced Daofu into using. They’re still welting up, hot and throbbing and perfect imprints of the twist of the rope.
A thumb sweeps over one of them, stark on the outside of his thigh, and Daofu lays the steaming cloth over them. “I can make them go away by morning,” he murmurs, finding another on Liu Sang’s ribs and stroking it with an almost ticklish lightness.
“Mn... you should look after your toys,” Liu Sang purrs into his thigh, since that would be... an amazing feat of medicine, actually. He slits one eye open and looks up at him through his eyelashes. Who’s the toy here, really? Daofu shudders delicately, almost invisibly, and leans down with his fist curling through the hair at the back of Liu Sang’s head.
“Kiss?” Liu Sang whispers, and whether he’s begging like a good boy or ordering him is...deliciously ambiguous. Daofu obeys anyway, and Liu Sang finds himself dragged up and into a kiss that steals his breath away.
They part once they’re both breathing heavily, and Daofu presses him back to the lush pillows with the kind of delicacy you might see in a jewellery store. Liu Sang sprawls, one thigh falling open to show the deepening pink of the rope lines that crisscross his inner thigh, and sighs happily.
“Or you could leave them,” he breathes. “Everyone I see for a week would know--”
Daofu surges up to his knees, straddling Liu Sang’s waist and leaning hard on his shoulders; Liu Sang has time to blink, but then he’s being kissed again, deep and hungry. “Fuck,” Daofu mutters into his throat after, eyelashes fluttering against Liu Sang’s cheek.
“No. I want to fix them. They’re... mine.”
Liu Sang drapes his arms over the man’s back, soothing and heavy, and slides one hand down his spine in a smooth slide. “You must have magic hands,” he says with just a tiny hint of disbelief.
That earns him a smirk that’s gone back into stern by the time Daofu sits back up. “I’m the best.”
There isn’t even a trace of a lie anywhere in his body, so Liu Sang believes it. “Hmm... prove it.”
Suspicion confirmed: Huo Daofu’s eyes go dark and Liu Sang grins right back, the little hint of a smirk reappearing. “Are you sure you can take it?” the doctor warns, abruptly half way across the room and stalking. “Good medicine tastes bad.”
“Can I have something sweet for after?” Liu Sang asks, as suggestively as possible. And that is... he’s naked except for the man’s own rope marks. It’s very suggestive.
Huo Daofu smirks and raises one eyebrow without looking away from his case, and the stone bowl he’s measuring ingredients into. “It’s topical, actually, but... of course you can.” Huo Daofu looks up with a spark in his eye and makes direct eye contact on his way back. “It’ll burn.”
Liu Sang hold’s the eye contact, undaunted, and spreads his hands.
Huo Daofu laughs at him, softer than his face should allow, and looks away to stir the mixture in his bowl with the tip of a long, white feather. How traditional.
Liu Sang makes space for him to sit at the edge of the bed again, and stretches out while the doctor carefully paints the glossy ointment along the deepest marks. It’s hot, from the very first touch; the heat of spice, not temperature. Like peppermint and ginger. He has to draw in a careful breath, blow it out just as cautiously.
“Good...good. Still.”
Liu Sang holds still, even while the feather trails along the crossed marks on the delicate skin of inner thigh and makes his breath stutter again. It’s--
It’s a lot. He sinks deeper into his body to deal with it, to feel how the burning isn’t a threat, isn’t hurting, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hand in the bedding to anchor himself. “Oh fuck.”
“Hmn. Bear it.”
“Wow, you bastard. Haaah!” It’s not pain, but it’s an overwhelming kind of burn, and Liu Sang knows all about burns. “Let me guess, stimulates blood flow?”
“Mn. Combined with an anti-inflammatory.”
Liu Sang switches his death grip from the bedding to the bastard’s trouser pocket, fingers hooked into the fabric and holding tight as his head swims with the wild excess of sensations. “Nhhgah.”
“Bear it... fifty seconds.”
Liu Sang presses his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, and breathes with his whole body shuddering. The countdown helps, and near the end of it he realises he can’t feel the first welts to get the treatment. He lets go of Daofu, hand trembling a little from the sudden release of effort, and reaches to touch, but Daofu pins his hand to the bed.
Liu Sang blinks up at him, at his raised eyebrow and judgmental face. Ah. He turns his hand over in surrender, and earns his freedom again.
“You don’t want it anywhere it’s not needed. Don’t smudge it.” As if in demonstration, he drops the feather into the trash directly, and wrings out the washcloth again, to dab away excess.
The burning heat has faded into cool, painless bliss, and Liu Sang blinks unseeingly at the ceiling, impressed.
“There...” the doctor murmurs, sounding a little smug as he puts away the washcloth and runs the pads of his fingers over Liu Sang’s tingling skin. The welts don’t sting any more, thats for sure. They don’t look different yet, and the excess medication has been washed from his skin, but they tingle and throb and Liu Sang believes Huo Daofu’s claims in their entirety, now.
“What treat do you want?” Daofu asks idly, washing his hands in the basin and turned away a little.
“An apple,” Liu Sang mutters, mostly joking. “Keep you away for a little while.”
Daofu snorts. “If only. I’d send Wu Xie a crate every morning. But no, here I am.”
Liu Sang slithers to the edge of the bed and reaches off the side to run his fingertips over Daofu’s lower back. “I’ll distract you from his terrible, terrible behaviour any day.”
“Hmph. He really is terrible.” Daofu turns on his heel and pins Liu Sang to the bed again, lazy and heavy. “Don’t shower until the morning, drink plenty of fluids, and no alcohol for sixteen hours,” he orders, almost growling into Liu Sang’s jaw before kissing him on the column of his throat. And then he’s gone again, straight backed and proud.
“Alright,” Liu Sang says, waving casually and absolutely watching him get dressed. “What’s my treat?”
Daofu smirks, shirt on his shoulders but unbuttoned and loose around the wrists. He’s devastating like this, even more so once he takes his sweet, precision time putting his glasses back on, without fixing the elegantly debauched mess of his shirt. “An apple.”
Liu Sang flops back to the bed, grinning wide enough to make his face ache, and catches the rustling missile that Daofu throws across the room. “Hah! No wonder your heart thumped when I cracked that joke; how long have you had this waiting?”
The wrapped candy in his palm is bright red, with a green apple printed on the plastic, and he wiggles it in the air.
“No one will ever believe you,” Daofu says with a deeply pleased smirk that he then directs at the camera in the ceiling too, fingers flying over his buttons.
He’s probably right about that, too. Hah.
Liu Sang unwraps the candy, and pops it in his mouth with a click against his teeth. It’s sour, and fragrant, and Liu Sang smirks around it while he watches Daofu pack his beautiful body back away behind an equally beautiful three piece suit.
“Don’t be a stranger, Doctor Huo,” he mumbles around it, when the man stalks over to the bed, ready to leave.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He pulls Liu Sang up by the chin, and licks into his mouth one more time, stealing the taste of sour apples and kissing it right back onto Liu Sang’s tongue a moment later. When they break apart, their lips are red and shiny and sweet and smirking, and Liu Sang pats him twice on the chest.
“Let me know if you need me to bully Wu Xie, mn?” Liu Sang murmurs, glancing at the camera with his favourite evil smirk.
Huo Daofu raises an eyebrow, eyes laughing and face blank, but leaves without commenting, his silver case in one hand, and his suit jacket dangling from the other.
...wow.