One of these days... [ He echoes, watching hungrily as Hades climbs closer, working from wrist to shoulder with devoted focus. Slow, reverent, as instructed, coaxing more heat to already bath-warmed skin. Viktor welcomes him in with an outstretched arm, grasping his waist, fingers tapping an urgent, meandering rhythm. ]
We will find the time. And the means-
[ His muscles twitch, palm at Hades waist squeezing. A sharp hitch of breath, then a softer laugh, as Hades presses fingers to his stomach. It is indeed ticklish, gone too long without touch, made newly sensitive. But he does not let it interrupt their work. Hades has a task to complete, after all, and Viktor laces fingers back into his hair, guiding, encouraging. He smiles. ]
-And a place for you to rob me of sense on every reflection. Oh.
[ Viktor lets his head loll back, shuts his eyes as Emet-Selch's teeth graze the point where his pulse roars. ]
G-good. Like that. [ He whispers, dragging fingers through his hair, the movement insistent, and not quite gentle. A match for the sweet prickle of bruising skin.
An impermanent mark, perhaps, but hadn't Hades staked his claim more than a year ago? He may not have had a direct hand in filling Viktor with Light, may not have cultivated the flowers that now sprout from his skin, but it was he who made them permanent. Dark brought to bear against Light, preserving his soul, pressing it to right shape, the way he now presses lilies between the pages of his books. Claimed and kept. And now, while they are here, all who care to look will see what Viktor knows, feels: that he belongs to Emet-Selch, is his, has always been.
A soft hum of pleasure hikes to a wanting whine when Hades pulls him up and into his lap. Heedless of the mess they might make, Viktor wraps his legs around Hades's waist. Water sloshes up and over the sides of the tub, splattering on the stone floor, and Viktor chuckles again, low and pleased. Another bruise, and another — always above and beyond with Hades. Ever eager.
Viktor does not open his eyes until Hades had pulled away, squeezing hair and hip in protest, but even then it takes him a moment, breath shallow and face flushed. He embraces the high, hot, heady feeling that arcs up from the dip between his thighs to every nerve in his body. The roar of his pulse somehow grows fiercer when he opens his eyes, realizes that he's surrounded. ]
Closer. [ He breathes, almost pleading. ] Press against me. I want to f-feel how I excite you.
[ Dimly, he's always been aware of how much taller, broader, bigger Hades is, but sat in his lap, with nothing separating slick skin save soapy water, the difference is newly intoxicating. Made near unbearable, knowing that Hades intends not to fight, to wrestle for control, but to obey.
Viktor licks his lips, stealing composure between thundering thumps of his heartbeat. He stares, lips parted, wisteria eyes fixed with hungry, animal focus. ]
You are fond of my hands, aren't you?
[ Voice dark, sweet and slow as pomegranate molasses, Viktor puts to words what he has known for quite some time. Proof glimpsed in sketchbook pages, in the fall of Hades's gaze when Viktor works Creation, in how his attention lingers on knuckles, on palms, on wrists. ]
And I do l-love that gorgeous mouth.
[ Viktor lifts a hand, not quite touching fingertips to the soft swell of Hades's lower lip. Wanting to indulge, but holding himself back. Wanting, more, for Hades to indulge, himself. He waits, one second, two, listening to the rhythm of their matched breaths, realizing that Hades truly does intend to make him ask, to coax his want, always so hidden away as to nearly go forgotten, from him. Water beads at his wrist, falls in a fat drop, and the sound as it hits the bath beneath feels almost deafening. ]
Lick them. Kiss them. Sh-show me- show me how much you like them.
no subject
We will find the time. And the means-
[ His muscles twitch, palm at Hades waist squeezing. A sharp hitch of breath, then a softer laugh, as Hades presses fingers to his stomach. It is indeed ticklish, gone too long without touch, made newly sensitive. But he does not let it interrupt their work. Hades has a task to complete, after all, and Viktor laces fingers back into his hair, guiding, encouraging. He smiles. ]
-And a place for you to rob me of sense on every reflection. Oh.
[ Viktor lets his head loll back, shuts his eyes as Emet-Selch's teeth graze the point where his pulse roars. ]
G-good. Like that. [ He whispers, dragging fingers through his hair, the movement insistent, and not quite gentle. A match for the sweet prickle of bruising skin.
An impermanent mark, perhaps, but hadn't Hades staked his claim more than a year ago? He may not have had a direct hand in filling Viktor with Light, may not have cultivated the flowers that now sprout from his skin, but it was he who made them permanent. Dark brought to bear against Light, preserving his soul, pressing it to right shape, the way he now presses lilies between the pages of his books. Claimed and kept. And now, while they are here, all who care to look will see what Viktor knows, feels: that he belongs to Emet-Selch, is his, has always been.
A soft hum of pleasure hikes to a wanting whine when Hades pulls him up and into his lap. Heedless of the mess they might make, Viktor wraps his legs around Hades's waist. Water sloshes up and over the sides of the tub, splattering on the stone floor, and Viktor chuckles again, low and pleased. Another bruise, and another — always above and beyond with Hades. Ever eager.
Viktor does not open his eyes until Hades had pulled away, squeezing hair and hip in protest, but even then it takes him a moment, breath shallow and face flushed. He embraces the high, hot, heady feeling that arcs up from the dip between his thighs to every nerve in his body. The roar of his pulse somehow grows fiercer when he opens his eyes, realizes that he's surrounded. ]
Closer. [ He breathes, almost pleading. ] Press against me. I want to f-feel how I excite you.
[ Dimly, he's always been aware of how much taller, broader, bigger Hades is, but sat in his lap, with nothing separating slick skin save soapy water, the difference is newly intoxicating. Made near unbearable, knowing that Hades intends not to fight, to wrestle for control, but to obey.
Viktor licks his lips, stealing composure between thundering thumps of his heartbeat. He stares, lips parted, wisteria eyes fixed with hungry, animal focus. ]
You are fond of my hands, aren't you?
[ Voice dark, sweet and slow as pomegranate molasses, Viktor puts to words what he has known for quite some time. Proof glimpsed in sketchbook pages, in the fall of Hades's gaze when Viktor works Creation, in how his attention lingers on knuckles, on palms, on wrists. ]
And I do l-love that gorgeous mouth.
[ Viktor lifts a hand, not quite touching fingertips to the soft swell of Hades's lower lip. Wanting to indulge, but holding himself back. Wanting, more, for Hades to indulge, himself. He waits, one second, two, listening to the rhythm of their matched breaths, realizing that Hades truly does intend to make him ask, to coax his want, always so hidden away as to nearly go forgotten, from him. Water beads at his wrist, falls in a fat drop, and the sound as it hits the bath beneath feels almost deafening. ]
Lick them. Kiss them. Sh-show me- show me how much you like them.