[ There are a few incontrovertible truths about their star. Or there should be. Or, people take comfort in saying that there are. And so there are. Until too many folks find out that even the incontrovertible is exactly the thing it claims not to be - perfectly wrong in a few interesting instances and probably wrong in some boring ones, too - and then there's trouble.
(And while trouble is certainly something Viktor bumps into on the regular, his preference is to avoid that particular sort. Toying with status quo of common wisdom is a bit below his pay grade at this point, if he's honest.)
But, incontrovertible truths - like the notion that a soul is stripped of all it was upon its return to the Sea; memories dismantled as the soul sinks, as it dreams, flaking away like so much paint, 'til only the blank canvas remains. Unless-
Unless you are two souls who so love to lie in sunlight together that you find each other across ten thousand years, from an island in the sky to a more conventional one set in the sea, to nap. Unless you are a brilliant, too soft-hearted scientist, overseeing the creation of new life upon a vast, flying research center, over and over, in search of meaning. Unless you are the split threads of the same beleaguered smith, the same gallant knight, the same cutthroat merchant, the same stern scholar, dancing the same dance across time, across worlds.
Then, the incontrovertible starts courting controversy. And that's not Viktor's business. He can enjoy the quiet satisfaction of knowing without ruining anyone else's day.
Anyway, the point is, twelve thousand years ago, AzemAepymetes Viktor made a game of reaching out, of grasping and plucking threads to make the music that most pleased his ear, of choosing and taking. Of chasing what he wanted, even if it meant leaving what he loved in the dark. And for that grave sin - or perhaps for no reason at all - he and all he loved was made blood, burned to ash, and split fourteen ways.
He does not remember any of this, precisely - and he shouldn't imprecisely, either, if the incontrovertible is truly thus - but it is all there. For ages upon ages, across eras and bodies, he felt it, did his best to show the star he'd learnt a lesson. He did not want. He walked. He did not take. He gave and gave and gave. And the star responded by burning up again and again and again, each time putting the match in the hand of the man he'd loved most. Until he forgot how to want, how to take, entirely. Until this, too, seemed to become incontrovertible.
It's a good thing that forests sometimes need fires to grow. It's a good thing that, in the span between ashes and new sprouts, one can see the incontrovertible for what it is - something that's only waiting to be controverted in just the right way. Souls are not always wiped clean, and penance does not always mean healing.
Sometimes, a love is too fierce to be blanched away. Sometimes, wanting, taking, and giving are all the same, and have no bearing on whether the world turns to ash.
Viktor reaches up, pressing palms to the line of Hades's jaw and taking his face gently in both hands. He leans in, until the fingers curled around his towel press to the bare skin beneath. He stares up, a hound adoring, a god embracing its most devoted. He needn't reforge himself into something new. He needn't set himself aflame or flee.
He needs only to be here, in this steadily warming room, enjoying the feeling of being enjoyed for exactly what he is - enough, and worth keeping. ]
Is the rug not a little excessive? [ Leveled with teasing glee, smile noon sun bright. ] Come here.
[ He props himself up partway on tip toe and pulls Emet-Selch down the rest of the distance to plant that grin against his mouth. There, he lingers, tipping his head to deepen the kiss, to taste as though he hasn't already sampled this a dozen (a hundred? a thousand?) times already. Because he wants to.
With the ease of one well acquainted with both dances and duels, Viktor turns the both of them until Hades is the one with his back to the bed. One hand drags down, fingers tracing every dip and curve, pressing to skin, until he flattens his palm upon the scar marking Hades's chest. There, he pushes, urging Hades down to the bed with a firm hand, and if the towel around Viktor's waist slips away with him, well- that's just getting their work done faster. ]
Tonight, you are going to imp-p-press me with all the things I know you've been trying not to let yourself think about doing to me. [ Still wearing a smile that is all playful warmth, excitement, he chases, slotting himself into place on Hades's lap, draping arms over his broad shoulders. ] First, though, perhaps a practical exam. Let's see how well you recall my first lesson.
sorry. this tag is fadsjld absolutely insane.
(And while trouble is certainly something Viktor bumps into on the regular, his preference is to avoid that particular sort. Toying with status quo of common wisdom is a bit below his pay grade at this point, if he's honest.)
But, incontrovertible truths - like the notion that a soul is stripped of all it was upon its return to the Sea; memories dismantled as the soul sinks, as it dreams, flaking away like so much paint, 'til only the blank canvas remains. Unless-
Unless you are two souls who so love to lie in sunlight together that you find each other across ten thousand years, from an island in the sky to a more conventional one set in the sea, to nap. Unless you are a brilliant, too soft-hearted scientist, overseeing the creation of new life upon a vast, flying research center, over and over, in search of meaning. Unless you are the split threads of the same beleaguered smith, the same gallant knight, the same cutthroat merchant, the same stern scholar, dancing the same dance across time, across worlds.
Then, the incontrovertible starts courting controversy. And that's not Viktor's business. He can enjoy the quiet satisfaction of knowing without ruining anyone else's day.
Anyway, the point is, twelve thousand years ago,
AzemAepymetesViktor made a game of reaching out, of grasping and plucking threads to make the music that most pleased his ear, of choosing and taking. Of chasing what he wanted, even if it meant leaving what he loved in the dark. And for that grave sin - or perhaps for no reason at all - he and all he loved was made blood, burned to ash, and split fourteen ways.He does not remember any of this, precisely - and he shouldn't imprecisely, either, if the incontrovertible is truly thus - but it is all there. For ages upon ages, across eras and bodies, he felt it, did his best to show the star he'd learnt a lesson. He did not want. He walked. He did not take. He gave and gave and gave. And the star responded by burning up again and again and again, each time putting the match in the hand of the man he'd loved most. Until he forgot how to want, how to take, entirely. Until this, too, seemed to become incontrovertible.
It's a good thing that forests sometimes need fires to grow. It's a good thing that, in the span between ashes and new sprouts, one can see the incontrovertible for what it is - something that's only waiting to be controverted in just the right way. Souls are not always wiped clean, and penance does not always mean healing.
Sometimes, a love is too fierce to be blanched away. Sometimes, wanting, taking, and giving are all the same, and have no bearing on whether the world turns to ash.
Viktor reaches up, pressing palms to the line of Hades's jaw and taking his face gently in both hands. He leans in, until the fingers curled around his towel press to the bare skin beneath. He stares up, a hound adoring, a god embracing its most devoted. He needn't reforge himself into something new. He needn't set himself aflame or flee.
He needs only to be here, in this steadily warming room, enjoying the feeling of being enjoyed for exactly what he is - enough, and worth keeping. ]
Is the rug not a little excessive? [ Leveled with teasing glee, smile noon sun bright. ] Come here.
[ He props himself up partway on tip toe and pulls Emet-Selch down the rest of the distance to plant that grin against his mouth. There, he lingers, tipping his head to deepen the kiss, to taste as though he hasn't already sampled this a dozen (a hundred? a thousand?) times already. Because he wants to.
With the ease of one well acquainted with both dances and duels, Viktor turns the both of them until Hades is the one with his back to the bed. One hand drags down, fingers tracing every dip and curve, pressing to skin, until he flattens his palm upon the scar marking Hades's chest. There, he pushes, urging Hades down to the bed with a firm hand, and if the towel around Viktor's waist slips away with him, well- that's just getting their work done faster. ]
Tonight, you are going to imp-p-press me with all the things I know you've been trying not to let yourself think about doing to me. [ Still wearing a smile that is all playful warmth, excitement, he chases, slotting himself into place on Hades's lap, draping arms over his broad shoulders. ] First, though, perhaps a practical exam. Let's see how well you recall my first lesson.