[ Water whispers protest as Hades moves. Closer, closer, skin meeting skin, and Viktor feels a little ridiculous for thinking of nothing so romantic as puzzle pieces or the sun spilling light over its much loved earth, but of a dislocated shoulder slotted neatly back into place. A feeling of sharply aching rightness.
He welcomes Hades with an open palm. The hand not grasped slips back to flatten over vertebrae, fingers pressing firm enough to mold clay as they slide down the shape of him, finding the exit scar carved into his back. Surrounded by Hades, his body, his smell, his aether, there is still this: a signature. His signature, his soul - as it is now, not some older, better model - writ across skin, across blood and organ, bone and marrow. A through and through, staking claim, not so entirely different from the 'gGg' embroidered into so many of the little things Emet-Selch has made him over these last moons - a secret for just the two of them, you are mine, mine, mine.
Viktor sighs as he studies, bright, hungry sound, lets fingernails scrape shallow lines into pale flesh as Hades adjusts them both once more. Stars, pressed this close even the barrier between them feels gossamer thin. Like he could look through and glimpse, grasp every thought, every feeling. Like he could dig fingers into the soil of Hades's soul to set roots, to fill the fissures time and torment have left in him with flowers, to build a home and make the both of them more whole.
It's a frightening feeling, but for the first time, he refuses to let it go. ]
Mayhap I have only noticed because I cannot keep my eyes off of you. [ Murmured, soft, sensing the twinge of embarrassment.
Viktor watches, transfixed, as Hades pays each finger a reverence that he would not allow from anyone else, and has to stop himself from miming the motion when Emet-Selch's mouth closes around his fingertips. Small blessings that the bath has already left his skin flushed, because as that tongue curls around each finger, he can feel a newer, hungrier heat creeping up, making every shallow, panted breath hot.
Hades swipes a hand over his chest, catches a nipple as his teeth graze fingertips, and a quiet moan slips past Viktor's lips. From worshiped idol to Emet-Selch's needy creature in mere seconds. Embarrassing. He laughs, again. Likes that he feels safe, exhaling some measure of that still building heat. ]
I suppose I can accept close to con-t-tent.
[ His flushed and flustered features bend into a cocky grin. Viktor leans in, draping his other arm over Hades's shoulder, meaning to press in for a kiss but stopping short. First, he indulges in a bit of simple softness, brushing the bridges of their noses together, and then abruptly he angles his head. Presses his mouth to the sharp corner of Hades's jaw. He makes his way up from there, leaving a line of kisses from cheek to ear, murmuring in-between each one. ]
'Twould by my pleasure to put them to work for you, however you might need.
[ Viktor catches Hades's earlobe between his teeth, nibbling before he tips his chin up and whispers, ] I hope, someday, you will permit me to make a proper mess of you.
no subject
He welcomes Hades with an open palm. The hand not grasped slips back to flatten over vertebrae, fingers pressing firm enough to mold clay as they slide down the shape of him, finding the exit scar carved into his back. Surrounded by Hades, his body, his smell, his aether, there is still this: a signature. His signature, his soul - as it is now, not some older, better model - writ across skin, across blood and organ, bone and marrow. A through and through, staking claim, not so entirely different from the 'gGg' embroidered into so many of the little things Emet-Selch has made him over these last moons - a secret for just the two of them, you are mine, mine, mine.
Viktor sighs as he studies, bright, hungry sound, lets fingernails scrape shallow lines into pale flesh as Hades adjusts them both once more. Stars, pressed this close even the barrier between them feels gossamer thin. Like he could look through and glimpse, grasp every thought, every feeling. Like he could dig fingers into the soil of Hades's soul to set roots, to fill the fissures time and torment have left in him with flowers, to build a home and make the both of them more whole.
It's a frightening feeling, but for the first time, he refuses to let it go. ]
Mayhap I have only noticed because I cannot keep my eyes off of you. [ Murmured, soft, sensing the twinge of embarrassment.
Viktor watches, transfixed, as Hades pays each finger a reverence that he would not allow from anyone else, and has to stop himself from miming the motion when Emet-Selch's mouth closes around his fingertips. Small blessings that the bath has already left his skin flushed, because as that tongue curls around each finger, he can feel a newer, hungrier heat creeping up, making every shallow, panted breath hot.
Hades swipes a hand over his chest, catches a nipple as his teeth graze fingertips, and a quiet moan slips past Viktor's lips. From worshiped idol to Emet-Selch's needy creature in mere seconds. Embarrassing. He laughs, again. Likes that he feels safe, exhaling some measure of that still building heat. ]
I suppose I can accept close to con-t-tent.
[ His flushed and flustered features bend into a cocky grin. Viktor leans in, draping his other arm over Hades's shoulder, meaning to press in for a kiss but stopping short. First, he indulges in a bit of simple softness, brushing the bridges of their noses together, and then abruptly he angles his head. Presses his mouth to the sharp corner of Hades's jaw. He makes his way up from there, leaving a line of kisses from cheek to ear, murmuring in-between each one. ]
'Twould by my pleasure to put them to work for you, however you might need.
[ Viktor catches Hades's earlobe between his teeth, nibbling before he tips his chin up and whispers, ] I hope, someday, you will permit me to make a proper mess of you.