[ He infuses every bit of dubiousness he can into repeating Viktor's words, but leaves it alone afterward, unwilling to unintentionally strike a chord when he only means to poke fun. His reward is Viktor's smile, just the sight of it twisting something in his stomach. It's not arousal - or well, it's not just arousal he feels, but a vicious greedy sort of satisfaction for being any bit of why Viktor looks like that - looks at him like that. ]
Rest assured I've no intention of freezing to death or losing any limbs to the chill.
[ Nor does he have any desire to wrest himself from the warmth of the bath even as it drains, too focused on chasing waterdroplets with his eyes as they bead and roll down Viktor's skin once he's done rinsing his hair clean. A shame, to muss it when the curls are almost neat but there is nothing that prevents them from taking a second bath. Leaning against the bathwater-warmed stone to watch Viktor's little show, Emet-Selch grabs for the wine and, after a beat of hesitation - of weighing need, necessity, and the simple desire to show off - snaps.
Where candlelight used to give off nothing but a vague, wobbling light, it feels as if each one has doubled or tripled in size. The fireplace coughs ash upward through the chimney and fresh logs appear, already blazing within the hearth. As Viktor approaches the bed, he'll notice it, too, radiates a low, warm heat; fire crystals have appeared tucked in the corners of the duvet, ensuring the bed is as warm as the room is soon to be.
Only then does he rise, a towel snapped into position around his hips. He doesn't need modesty where he's going - where they're going, but old habits die hard. Goldenrod had called him a prude with witch-cackling delight and irritatingly, he found it wasn't a wholly inaccurate summation. Even all these years later he hasn't fully shaken off the desire to be clad head to toe in shapeless, formless robes. For now, a towel will have to do. ]
What would be your general disposition if I stated I was far more interested in indulging in you this evening? As opposed to a more - [ he pauses, stepping out of the bath, trying to find a less clinical set of words. ] - mutual agreement.
no subject
[ He infuses every bit of dubiousness he can into repeating Viktor's words, but leaves it alone afterward, unwilling to unintentionally strike a chord when he only means to poke fun. His reward is Viktor's smile, just the sight of it twisting something in his stomach. It's not arousal - or well, it's not just arousal he feels, but a vicious greedy sort of satisfaction for being any bit of why Viktor looks like that - looks at him like that. ]
Rest assured I've no intention of freezing to death or losing any limbs to the chill.
[ Nor does he have any desire to wrest himself from the warmth of the bath even as it drains, too focused on chasing waterdroplets with his eyes as they bead and roll down Viktor's skin once he's done rinsing his hair clean. A shame, to muss it when the curls are almost neat but there is nothing that prevents them from taking a second bath. Leaning against the bathwater-warmed stone to watch Viktor's little show, Emet-Selch grabs for the wine and, after a beat of hesitation - of weighing need, necessity, and the simple desire to show off - snaps.
Where candlelight used to give off nothing but a vague, wobbling light, it feels as if each one has doubled or tripled in size. The fireplace coughs ash upward through the chimney and fresh logs appear, already blazing within the hearth. As Viktor approaches the bed, he'll notice it, too, radiates a low, warm heat; fire crystals have appeared tucked in the corners of the duvet, ensuring the bed is as warm as the room is soon to be.
Only then does he rise, a towel snapped into position around his hips. He doesn't need modesty where he's going - where they're going, but old habits die hard. Goldenrod had called him a prude with witch-cackling delight and irritatingly, he found it wasn't a wholly inaccurate summation. Even all these years later he hasn't fully shaken off the desire to be clad head to toe in shapeless, formless robes. For now, a towel will have to do. ]
What would be your general disposition if I stated I was far more interested in indulging in you this evening? As opposed to a more - [ he pauses, stepping out of the bath, trying to find a less clinical set of words. ] - mutual agreement.