[ Such certainty in him, so much so that he does not feel even a flicker of guilt, even though he thinks that perhaps he would be justified if he did. His mind races, trying to pinpoint meaning and sense as he delicately traces the upper outline of the incredible wound he'd inflicted, once upon a time.
Then, abruptly, his mind stills.
Emet-Selch's palms settle against the curve of his body, and for a few seconds Viktor can think of nothing but hands large enough to near wreath him where his body dips outward, holding him steady, coaxing his breath shallow with simple, rhythmic movement. This body has waited moons - the soul, literal ages for this much closeness, this much contact. He calls him lovely, and Viktor wonders whether he can feel, beneath his fingers, the way his stomach seems to tighten with want. ]
I am lovely. [ He agrees with a crooked grin, inching closer. ] And you are- you are the moon. Something to write poetry about, to study for lifetimes. [ Viktor settles his hands over Emet-Selch's, not to move them or to stop that hypnotic little motion, but to hold him in place as he says, ] Rumored to drive certain men absolutely mad.
[ It feels a safe thing to allude to his sulking, stormy mood after their argument in so light a way. Especially when he chases it with movement, letting Emet-Selch's hands glide over his body as he turns between them, then settling in, sinking into the water and gingerly pressing his back to Emet-Selch's chest. For a brief, heart-fluttering moment, he feels almost faint for how close they are, skin to skin, without barriers.
Eventually, he realizes he isn't breathing, and steals a gulp of air as he leands the back of his head against Emet-Selch's shoulder, one ear lazily flopping into the water. He stares up at him, mismatched eyes tracing his unbearably handsome profile, trying to pinpoint all the places he wants to kiss and in what order he'd like to accomplish those tasks. ]
I do not- I've not got the right words, but. The scar - 'tis proof of what set us on even footing once more. 'Tis the beginning our new start, aye? [ Viktor dips in, brushing his lips against the point where Emet-Selch's jaw and neck meet. ] Was it always there? I mean- since I c-called you back. I only- I noticed your hands are more calloused, and your eyes... the glow.
no subject
[ Such certainty in him, so much so that he does not feel even a flicker of guilt, even though he thinks that perhaps he would be justified if he did. His mind races, trying to pinpoint meaning and sense as he delicately traces the upper outline of the incredible wound he'd inflicted, once upon a time.
Then, abruptly, his mind stills.
Emet-Selch's palms settle against the curve of his body, and for a few seconds Viktor can think of nothing but hands large enough to near wreath him where his body dips outward, holding him steady, coaxing his breath shallow with simple, rhythmic movement. This body has waited moons - the soul, literal ages for this much closeness, this much contact. He calls him lovely, and Viktor wonders whether he can feel, beneath his fingers, the way his stomach seems to tighten with want. ]
I am lovely. [ He agrees with a crooked grin, inching closer. ] And you are- you are the moon. Something to write poetry about, to study for lifetimes. [ Viktor settles his hands over Emet-Selch's, not to move them or to stop that hypnotic little motion, but to hold him in place as he says, ] Rumored to drive certain men absolutely mad.
[ It feels a safe thing to allude to his sulking, stormy mood after their argument in so light a way. Especially when he chases it with movement, letting Emet-Selch's hands glide over his body as he turns between them, then settling in, sinking into the water and gingerly pressing his back to Emet-Selch's chest. For a brief, heart-fluttering moment, he feels almost faint for how close they are, skin to skin, without barriers.
Eventually, he realizes he isn't breathing, and steals a gulp of air as he leands the back of his head against Emet-Selch's shoulder, one ear lazily flopping into the water. He stares up at him, mismatched eyes tracing his unbearably handsome profile, trying to pinpoint all the places he wants to kiss and in what order he'd like to accomplish those tasks. ]
I do not- I've not got the right words, but. The scar - 'tis proof of what set us on even footing once more. 'Tis the beginning our new start, aye? [ Viktor dips in, brushing his lips against the point where Emet-Selch's jaw and neck meet. ] Was it always there? I mean- since I c-called you back. I only- I noticed your hands are more calloused, and your eyes... the glow.