From time to time I do indulge in what I want, rather than what needs must be done. [ The cheeky grin he puts on is intercepted by a press of lips. The urgency of it sends a burst of warm frisson rushing up Viktor's spine, the clumsiness touching that heat with a sweetness that makes him wriggle his shoulders. Soap and soaking salts are not necessarily pleasant tastes, but they will be filed neatly, forever more, among his favorite things, his most well-savored memories. A mote of bright light in the dark, like dandelions peeking up through cracks in Crystarium streets. ] H-hard to believe, I know.
[ He chases, just an ilm, before he is the one given orders. Viktor stops short of stealing another kiss, derailing their whole conversation again, and does not bother to mask how pleased he is to be directed; smile broad and hungry, as much hot chili in it as as sugar. ]
It is quite cold, you know. You best be prepared to keep me warm.
[ Still lingering in Emet-Selch's space, Viktor reaches back, haphazardly groping for the stone stopper plugging the tub drain. With a rattle, groan, and gurgle, the water level begins to drop. Viktor fumbles next for the faucet without looking, grin still pointed Emet-Selch's way as he turns knobs behind him. Fresh water spills from the tap, and he bends back without waiting for it to warm, ducking his head beneath the stream, gripping his ears with one hand to protect them from water, and wringing conditioner from his hair with the other until the water runs clean.
He sits back up, reluctant to leave the warmth of the tub just yet, even as the water level continues to fall. Viktor wastes a few seconds squeezing excess water from his hair, gentle waves springing up into tight curls for the first time in longer than he can remember.
Perhaps there is something to all these silly little bottles after all. Perhaps there is something to a bit of luxury. Perhaps Lucilia was right.
Only once he's girded himself against the cold does he rise, performatively slow, even if he mislikes the cold air. He fetches a towel, hip jutting out at an angle as he dries his ears, then his shoulders and torso and tail, before slinging it around his waist and climbing finally from the tub.
Here, he stops in spite of the chilly air. Turns to watch Emet-Selch with the sort of interest of someone whose paid to see a show, and takes two steps back toward the bed -- their bed. ]
no subject
[ He chases, just an ilm, before he is the one given orders. Viktor stops short of stealing another kiss, derailing their whole conversation again, and does not bother to mask how pleased he is to be directed; smile broad and hungry, as much hot chili in it as as sugar. ]
It is quite cold, you know. You best be prepared to keep me warm.
[ Still lingering in Emet-Selch's space, Viktor reaches back, haphazardly groping for the stone stopper plugging the tub drain. With a rattle, groan, and gurgle, the water level begins to drop. Viktor fumbles next for the faucet without looking, grin still pointed Emet-Selch's way as he turns knobs behind him. Fresh water spills from the tap, and he bends back without waiting for it to warm, ducking his head beneath the stream, gripping his ears with one hand to protect them from water, and wringing conditioner from his hair with the other until the water runs clean.
He sits back up, reluctant to leave the warmth of the tub just yet, even as the water level continues to fall. Viktor wastes a few seconds squeezing excess water from his hair, gentle waves springing up into tight curls for the first time in longer than he can remember.
Perhaps there is something to all these silly little bottles after all. Perhaps there is something to a bit of luxury. Perhaps Lucilia was right.
Only once he's girded himself against the cold does he rise, performatively slow, even if he mislikes the cold air. He fetches a towel, hip jutting out at an angle as he dries his ears, then his shoulders and torso and tail, before slinging it around his waist and climbing finally from the tub.
Here, he stops in spite of the chilly air. Turns to watch Emet-Selch with the sort of interest of someone whose paid to see a show, and takes two steps back toward the bed -- their bed. ]
Bring the wine with you?