[ Viktor sinks in against him and Emet-Selch gingerly settles back against the stone lip seat, reclining until the two of them can rest comfortably against each other, slotting into place with ginger care. Malms of bare, soft skin pressed against his own, the heat of the bathwater near-perfect, and for a moment he can almost forget where they are. What they must do. For a sliver of an instant, he doesn't think about duty or obligation, he focuses on the simple pleasure of running his hand up and down Viktor's flank, savoring the weight of him.
The moon to Viktor's sun. There's no spitefulness, no jealousy that arises at the echo of what once was, fundamentally changed by thousands of years. Emet-Selch stretches his legs out, adjusts Viktor a little more comfortably where he reclines, and then greedily, selfishly, winds both arms around him and lets his chin rest against Viktor's mussed curls. ]
One would have to be a little mad to consider what you do on a daily basis.
[ Whether that is intimacy like this with a former enemy, or trotting about different shards, attempting to undo the greatest wrong that has ever been perpetuated upon them, it doesn't matter. Madness either way, Emet-Selch thinks, lifting his hand from the bathwater to trace the smattering of freckles upon Viktor's shoulder with damp fingertips, shuddering out a breath at the press of Viktor's lips. ]
I tired of...making myself less than what I was. [ They had needed to when they arrived in the First - he could not distract from the Warrior, had to be careful not to lose Viktor any trust by being his companion. Now, he thinks, they've achieved enough he can walk amongst them as himself and there is no mistrust. There ought to be, maybe. He half-expects them to have some sort of sense-memory with him, aware he was responsible for most of their ills, but it did not happen. Does not happen. ] Foolish as it was, I thought it fitting. Indicative of the past and the present.
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The moon to Viktor's sun. There's no spitefulness, no jealousy that arises at the echo of what once was, fundamentally changed by thousands of years. Emet-Selch stretches his legs out, adjusts Viktor a little more comfortably where he reclines, and then greedily, selfishly, winds both arms around him and lets his chin rest against Viktor's mussed curls. ]
One would have to be a little mad to consider what you do on a daily basis.
[ Whether that is intimacy like this with a former enemy, or trotting about different shards, attempting to undo the greatest wrong that has ever been perpetuated upon them, it doesn't matter. Madness either way, Emet-Selch thinks, lifting his hand from the bathwater to trace the smattering of freckles upon Viktor's shoulder with damp fingertips, shuddering out a breath at the press of Viktor's lips. ]
I tired of...making myself less than what I was. [ They had needed to when they arrived in the First - he could not distract from the Warrior, had to be careful not to lose Viktor any trust by being his companion. Now, he thinks, they've achieved enough he can walk amongst them as himself and there is no mistrust. There ought to be, maybe. He half-expects them to have some sort of sense-memory with him, aware he was responsible for most of their ills, but it did not happen. Does not happen. ] Foolish as it was, I thought it fitting. Indicative of the past and the present.