[ The water sloshes as he shrugs. And the smile he offers up in exchange for the name is bright and pleased, unburdened by the weight of the day. The first genuine show of sunlight since they'd arrived on this icy reflection of home. Wildly gratifying, to have earned his answer. He can admit as much to himself.
Even better, to be touched, explored by calloused fingers. All that scholar's focus devoted to the study of skin and muscle, intoxicating. Emet-Selch's hand skirts up his leg, fingertips finding each slope and curve of sinew, glancing off his thigh as they pass up and over his knee, and Viktor does not bother to stop himself from shivering. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the motion, each pass kindling for the fire Viktor is increasingly disinterested in keeping banked low.
Oh, to know all the little details. All the people who have mattered to Hades. But. More pressing is this: to be the sole focus of all that ages old, heavy attention, to be such a distraction that a man who has seen all life has to offer cannot even pretend he wants to keep his hands to himself. Viktor relishes being as precious, as interesting, as the books and reports and odds and ends Emet-Selch is ever poring over, and tries not to pout too plainly when the study session comes to an end.
He opens one eye when Emet-Selch rises, spies the jagged outline of mottled flesh interrupting otherwise flawless skin, and decides it is his turn to learn. With his own hands now free, he does not hesitate to press greedy fingers to skin. Admiring his own handiwork, he thinks wryly, tracing the outline enjoying the warmth of the body beneath his palms. He resists pressing his mouth to skin as well, but only just. ]
Our spring home. [ He repeats, breathing in herbs and flowers. Familiar. It reminds him of his own clothes, his blankets, the inside of his pack. ] Where we will spend a few weeks when it is still miserably cold across Eorzea. Big, open windows, and a v-view of the sea. A little garden and a workshop for all your projects. Mm. [ His fingertips wander to trace the slope of Emet-Selch's waist, not grasping, just mapping his form. ] As for Vrtra, I think you underestimate how readily the people, even dragons, will forgive one who has d-done right by them.
[ He does not doubt it will be difficult, presenting the truth of things to the star. But, it will be worth it, to fight for Hades's place in this world they will have made. Perhaps, for a time, that will be his cause - illuminating all the ways in which Hades belongs, both to the people, and to the man, himself.
Emet-Selch settles back into the bath, guiding Viktor's leg where he wants it, and Viktor takes a few seconds to consider the feel of so much soap-that-is-not-soap set in his hair. He lifts a hand, lights fingers on the sticky substance run through his curls, and pulls a dubious face. Though it feels odd, the smell is nice, and he would endure the torment of sitting and waiting again if it meant Emet-Selch might slide fingers through his hair, working through tangles with a surgeon's gentle precision and shaping curls like an artist. ]
Mint. [ He murmurs, sliding a little closer, slow, testing the distance. How close can he press, before they find the new line? ] Crisp, cooling, green. Unignorable. A good scent for c-clearing one's head. Lucilia... had some good ideas. But I have better ones.
[ Like how to spend the next few minutes, waiting for this new fragrant gunk in his hair to set. Viktor tangles damp fingers in Emet-Selch's hair. ]
no subject
[ The water sloshes as he shrugs. And the smile he offers up in exchange for the name is bright and pleased, unburdened by the weight of the day. The first genuine show of sunlight since they'd arrived on this icy reflection of home. Wildly gratifying, to have earned his answer. He can admit as much to himself.
Even better, to be touched, explored by calloused fingers. All that scholar's focus devoted to the study of skin and muscle, intoxicating. Emet-Selch's hand skirts up his leg, fingertips finding each slope and curve of sinew, glancing off his thigh as they pass up and over his knee, and Viktor does not bother to stop himself from shivering. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the motion, each pass kindling for the fire Viktor is increasingly disinterested in keeping banked low.
Oh, to know all the little details. All the people who have mattered to Hades. But. More pressing is this: to be the sole focus of all that ages old, heavy attention, to be such a distraction that a man who has seen all life has to offer cannot even pretend he wants to keep his hands to himself. Viktor relishes being as precious, as interesting, as the books and reports and odds and ends Emet-Selch is ever poring over, and tries not to pout too plainly when the study session comes to an end.
He opens one eye when Emet-Selch rises, spies the jagged outline of mottled flesh interrupting otherwise flawless skin, and decides it is his turn to learn. With his own hands now free, he does not hesitate to press greedy fingers to skin. Admiring his own handiwork, he thinks wryly, tracing the outline enjoying the warmth of the body beneath his palms. He resists pressing his mouth to skin as well, but only just. ]
Our spring home. [ He repeats, breathing in herbs and flowers. Familiar. It reminds him of his own clothes, his blankets, the inside of his pack. ] Where we will spend a few weeks when it is still miserably cold across Eorzea. Big, open windows, and a v-view of the sea. A little garden and a workshop for all your projects. Mm. [ His fingertips wander to trace the slope of Emet-Selch's waist, not grasping, just mapping his form. ] As for Vrtra, I think you underestimate how readily the people, even dragons, will forgive one who has d-done right by them.
[ He does not doubt it will be difficult, presenting the truth of things to the star. But, it will be worth it, to fight for Hades's place in this world they will have made. Perhaps, for a time, that will be his cause - illuminating all the ways in which Hades belongs, both to the people, and to the man, himself.
Emet-Selch settles back into the bath, guiding Viktor's leg where he wants it, and Viktor takes a few seconds to consider the feel of so much soap-that-is-not-soap set in his hair. He lifts a hand, lights fingers on the sticky substance run through his curls, and pulls a dubious face. Though it feels odd, the smell is nice, and he would endure the torment of sitting and waiting again if it meant Emet-Selch might slide fingers through his hair, working through tangles with a surgeon's gentle precision and shaping curls like an artist. ]
Mint. [ He murmurs, sliding a little closer, slow, testing the distance. How close can he press, before they find the new line? ] Crisp, cooling, green. Unignorable. A good scent for c-clearing one's head. Lucilia... had some good ideas. But I have better ones.
[ Like how to spend the next few minutes, waiting for this new fragrant gunk in his hair to set. Viktor tangles damp fingers in Emet-Selch's hair. ]
Kiss me.