[ The tub has been emptied mostly and filled again by the time Viktor deigns to open the adjoining door, so long that Emet-Selch wonders if he's thought better of it. He would understand if so. As convenient as it is to have two different rooms for storing items, Emet-Selch mislikes the misinterpretation. Mislikes even more the fact that he wants to vehemently defend something as fledgling as what they have.
Something in him squirms, pleased that Viktor does not sound disappointed to find him himself. It was not so difficult to wear Solus again. Maybe he would feel less...this if he hadn't found putting that persona on so easy, or the gulch between them so small. ]
I am myself. 'Tis a trifle to make the change as needed.
[ But he would prefer to be himself, here and now. Especially for something as intimate as a bath, as shedding literal layers down to skin. At least already being in the bath makes the process a touch easier; he needn't feel ridiculous about undressing.
The wine is given a brief, appraising glance before Emet-Selch turns a steady gaze on Viktor and looks, intentional, deliberate. Marks the undoing of a few toggles on his robes and how close Viktor lingers, and finds that his earlier irritation has not necessarily waned but neither does it do anything to cool the heat curling in his stomach. At least his hands are dry; it doesn't take effort to reach out and start thumbing them open bit by bit. ]
Of course, your hands haven't warmed enough to manage the rest of the buckles.
[ If his fingers linger against the graceful line of Viktor's throat or drift up a little higher to nudge curls out of the way, well, he does not think Viktor will object, necessarily. When he's finished with the shirt he props his elbow up on the lip and places his chin in his palm, watching, intent unless Viktor tells him not to. There's no disgust to be found, even when he anticipates and searches for it. Burned to cinders by the heat the bath does nothing to stifle.
Reaching for the wine so he does not do something drastically inadvisable like graze a touch over Viktor's trousers, flush with the certainty the touch would be allowed, welcomed, in a way the spoiled princeling's hands would never be, Emet-Selch debates creating glasses. Decides just as quickly as he has the thought not to.
The label is unpeeled with surgical precision, maintaining the brand information and wax stamp, but the cork he thumbs out thoughtlessly, settling the open wine bottle back on the lip for Viktor to taste first once he finishes divesting himself of clothing. ]
Before the bath chills too much. [ a pause as he settles himself into a lazy drape along the lip, chin atop folded arms once again, indulgent. ] Would you prefer I not watch?
no subject
Something in him squirms, pleased that Viktor does not sound disappointed to find him himself. It was not so difficult to wear Solus again. Maybe he would feel less...this if he hadn't found putting that persona on so easy, or the gulch between them so small. ]
I am myself. 'Tis a trifle to make the change as needed.
[ But he would prefer to be himself, here and now. Especially for something as intimate as a bath, as shedding literal layers down to skin. At least already being in the bath makes the process a touch easier; he needn't feel ridiculous about undressing.
The wine is given a brief, appraising glance before Emet-Selch turns a steady gaze on Viktor and looks, intentional, deliberate. Marks the undoing of a few toggles on his robes and how close Viktor lingers, and finds that his earlier irritation has not necessarily waned but neither does it do anything to cool the heat curling in his stomach. At least his hands are dry; it doesn't take effort to reach out and start thumbing them open bit by bit. ]
Of course, your hands haven't warmed enough to manage the rest of the buckles.
[ If his fingers linger against the graceful line of Viktor's throat or drift up a little higher to nudge curls out of the way, well, he does not think Viktor will object, necessarily. When he's finished with the shirt he props his elbow up on the lip and places his chin in his palm, watching, intent unless Viktor tells him not to. There's no disgust to be found, even when he anticipates and searches for it. Burned to cinders by the heat the bath does nothing to stifle.
Reaching for the wine so he does not do something drastically inadvisable like graze a touch over Viktor's trousers, flush with the certainty the touch would be allowed, welcomed, in a way the spoiled princeling's hands would never be, Emet-Selch debates creating glasses. Decides just as quickly as he has the thought not to.
The label is unpeeled with surgical precision, maintaining the brand information and wax stamp, but the cork he thumbs out thoughtlessly, settling the open wine bottle back on the lip for Viktor to taste first once he finishes divesting himself of clothing. ]
Before the bath chills too much. [ a pause as he settles himself into a lazy drape along the lip, chin atop folded arms once again, indulgent. ] Would you prefer I not watch?